


The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

by Tea33



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A whole lot of stuff in this thing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Character Turned Into Vampire, Death, F/M, Gen, Guilt, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley but it comes later, Insomnia, Kidnapping, Mostly Gen, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Ron Weasley, Ron Weasley-centric, Self-Esteem Issues, Vampires, because this fic has a lot of plot, bit tricky to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 191,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea33/pseuds/Tea33
Summary: Ron Weasley was a sidekick. He knew what everyone said, despite many believing him to be stupid. He was Harry Potter's best mate, a part of the supposed Golden Trio. So nothing too bad would happen to him, right, being a sidekick and all? He'd always be there, ready for the next round. Wrong. Ron is unprepared when he is attacked by a vampire just a few weeks before sixth year.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 92
Kudos: 95





	1. The Day Ron Weasley Died

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter One: The Day Ron Weasley Died

Ron Weasley was a sidekick. He knew what everyone said, despite many believing him to be stupid. He was Harry Potter's best mate, a part of the supposed Golden Trio. So nothing too bad would happen to him, right, being a sidekick and all? He'd always be there, ready for the next round.

Wrong, he thought miserably as he trudged home in the dark, blood dripping down his sleeve and clothes torn.

All he had done was go for a run. A bloody jog around some bloody fields, and he had still managed to get into trouble. Well, that was one excuse never to do it again. He had decided to try and keep in shape for the upcoming quidditch season, heading out of the house a few hours ago and slowly making his way around the fields that surrounded his house. There were some tracks set up for eager hikers, muggle and magic alike, so he jogged along them, not meeting a single soul along the way.

He had just finished trekking up a large hill, panting and out of breath, when he heard it. It was like a whisper; a disturbance in the wind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Ron had looked around warily, hand moving to clench the wand sticking out of the waistband of his shorts. His eyes had scanned the horizon, gaze locking on the setting sun for a few moments before shaking his head.

 _Get a grip, Ron,_ he told himself tersely. _You're not back at Hogwarts yet_. It had become a sort of inside-joke that nothing ever seemed to happen during the summer holidays, (excluding fourth year, of course) and only during term. It was facing that danger at school, where he was supposed to be safe that had given him an instinct to always stick close to his wand. He even slept with it under his pillow, warnings from Mad-Eye be damned.

He swallowed hard and carried on, running past towering trees and prickly shrubs. Each one was the same as the last: sprawling weeds and various other plants creeping up their trunks and infesting their leaves and roots. It had the same sort of jumbled feel as his home, which he rather liked.

Running through the forest where the only thing that bothered you were the insistently chirping birds was quite calming. There were no Death Eaters here, no Voldemort, simply the forest with its trees and leaves and creatures.

Suddenly, there was another noise, a sort of whooshing that sat sped up his pulse. He edged closer to where it came from, craning his neck round a tree trunk to see someone- no, some _thing_ , scrabbling around in the dirt. Ron moved closer to get a better look, trainers crunching on some of the undergrowth. The thing heard it, pausing in its hurried movements and seeming to turn. Ron released a shaky breath and blinked a few times, the last time he reopened his eyes revealing an empty space save for a splatter of blood on a rock.

Whoever they were, they had vanished. Ron shook his head, wondering if there was ever anything there in the first place. Maybe he should start getting to bed sooner. Yeah - it was probably just lack of sleep and his imagination turning the sounds of nature into something else.

Ron continued on, and for a while, there was nothing. No weird noises or odd feelings. But he sped up, wanting to get home as soon as he could. The light was fading fast, sun sinking lower and lower in the sky and its warmth retracting to be replaced by a cold summer breeze.

There were only a few more weeks before the term began, so Harry should be arriving at the Burrow soon. Ron was glad he could see his best mate again. Although things outside were only escalating with the war, he wanted to make the most of the summer while they had no homework to do and warm afternoons to be spent playing quidditch and lazing about.

All of the attention Harry got would be twice as bad, though, what with proof coming out he wasn't a liar. Fudge had been sacked and a fierce man named Rufus Scrimgeour took over. Hopefully he wouldn't be as thick as his predecessor. Also, Sirius' name had been cleared, so he had died a free man, according to a small notice in the Prophet. They wouldn't have put one at all unless Dumbledore hadn't insisted.

Most of the space was being taken up by warnings about Death Eater activity, and how to protect your home and family from the darkness outside. Ron had seen his father's face darken when he read the warnings, and he had nudged Molly. They had both exchanged knowing looks, his mother murmuring, "It's just like last time."

Never mind all that - he was almost home. Just this stretch of field to go, then a small clump of forest and a hill. Ron found himself becoming more and more eager to get home, the sneaking suspicion that there was something behind him growing by the second. He turned his head round, only to see nothing but softly-swaying dry grass moving in the wind. he sighed and continued on, trying to convince himself that there was nothing wrong. But it did nothing to settle the rapidly-mounting feeling that something was wrong in his stomach.

He ran even faster, paranoia creeping into his brain. _Calm the fuck down, Ron, there's nothing_ -

A large snap drew him out of his thoughts. Ron whipped round, wand outstretched and adrenaline spiking. Again, there was _nothing_. But what had made that noise? His sweeping gaze dropped down to the floor where it caught on a broken twing.

A stick. That was what had scared the hell out of him? He had faced Death Eaters, (albeit untalented ones) and it was a fucking twig that had him afraid he would be attacked again? He shook his head irritably and marched on.

But one thought stopped him in his tracks. What had _broken_ the twig? He had been too far ahead to have been the one that stepped on it, which meant...

He wasn't alone. He may be making a big deal out of a few unexplained noises, but there was just this feeling that something wasn't right. And at times like these you couldn't just ignore a feeling like that.

Ron turned again, wand held steady and this time checking in all directions rather than the one behind him. He had just reached the edge of a small forest, trees and shrubs dominating the ground and leaving little room for the path that trickled through it. He backed up against a thick tree trunk, figuring he would be able to see his surroundings better.

There was a good minute when it was just the wind swirling past him, nipping at his face and only being balanced out by the aftertaste of a warm August evening. And then he heard them - footsteps, again behind him, but much clearer, much louder, and obviously heading for him. Ron was frozen, pinned against that tree like he had been glued to it. But the truth was he was too afraid to move.

 _Snap out of it, you need to get moving!_ A voice in his head told him urgently, and he made a break for it; tearing off down a side path unknown to those who hadn't spent their childhood wandering round these meadows. His gut told him whatever thing was following him wasn't friendly, and that he really, _really_ needed to get home.

He didn't know how long he ran for, only that he was so unbelievably thankful to glimpse the faded lights of the Burrow he almost felt like crying. He just had to get up that hill, across a small field and he was home safe. His legs were moving faster than they ever had done before and there was a roaring in his ears. Ron sped through the fields, feeling like nothing could stop him... until he tripped.

His body had barely hit the ground before he felt something dragging him, grabbing his arm and twisting it ruthlessly so he roared out in pain. He was pulled impatiently across the ground, back into the shade of the trees. Ron felt the strong grip on his arm releasing, and he twisted round to get a look at his assailant.

They were lean and muscular, with inky-black locks hanging around their face, masking their eyes so they looked practically faceless. Their clothes were ripped, faded and encrusted with grime, a long trenchcoat hanging over some trousers and cuffs of the coat going right down to their filthy fingernails.

They stepped closer, and Ron scrabbled at the ground to try and push himself away. "Get away from me, you fucking freak! I don't know what you want with me, but I swear, I haven't done anything, I don't _know_ you-" Ron's snarls were cut off by the stranger bending down and pressing a finger to his lips, hair parting to reveal a pair of blood-red eyes.

"Shhh," they said, eyes twinkling with hunger when Ron's widened in fear. He made vibrant noises of protest that were smothered by his hand as the stranger bent in closer, and Ron tried to prepare himself for what was coming.

But they missed his lips, and went straight for his neck instead. They widened their jaws, a gleaming pair of elongated canines coming into view before they clamped down onto his skin and latched on. The skin broke almost immediately, and Ron could feel blood being drained from above his shoulder and being eagerly swallowed by the stranger. A scream tore through him, shaking him to his very core as he could feel the life-force being sucked out of him.

Ron tried to escape, he did; but the vice-like, freezing cold grip on his side and throat grew to be excruciatingly painful, and coupled with the bite on his neck made him wish for a second that he would die so the pain would end. But the stranger unclenched their mouth from his neck and turned to face him, eyes still glittering madly like rubies and droplets of blood leaking from their mouth.

That was his blood. Ron's blood, that was no doubt oozing from the wound on his neck. His vision was beginning to fade, the forest and the mad stranger swimming before him. He closed them, barely registering when they mumbled, "Now, it's your turn," before he could process what it meant.

They snatched up a jagged rock from the forest floor and drew it across their wrist, rivulets of scarlet slipping out and collecting on his palm. Ron was now mumbling incoherent phrases, which ceased when the stranger grabbed his face roughly and forced his mouth open. They dangled their palm over his mouth, watching as their blood dripped into Ron's mouth and disappeared down his throat. Just a little more... and then he was done.

The stranger stood up drunkenly, wiping the blood from his lips and devouring it from his fingertips, humming contentedly. He disappeared, and whether he had apparated or run Ron wasn't sure. He lay there weakly in the dirt, feeling the blood working its way down his throat and into his system. There was a dull thudding in his head that made it impossible for him to move, and he felt like his insides had vanished. He was doomed.

Ron's fate had sealed before the madman had even levered himself off the ground and away from the weak form of the boy on the floor, his blood polluting Ron's mouth.

He didn't know how long he had been laying there, the words 'too late, too late, too late,' blundering through his brain.

He knew what that _thing_ was. But- but they were suposed to be monitored by the Ministry, or locked up. Not prowling around Ottery St Catchpole looking for their next meal. Ron had been bitten by a vampire. And then had drank its blood. By... by law, he was now technically a-

No. He _wasn't_. It didn't matter what the stupid law said, Ron was no vampire. He was a human, a wizard, set to go back for his sixth-year at Hogwarts in just a few weeks. He couldn't be a vampire. Ron laughed, the feeble sound echoing around the darkened forest. Yeah, whatever that weirdo had done to him, he was going to be alright.

Ron heaved himself off the ground, wiping the tears from his cheeks and retrieving his wand from where it had rolled away from him. Maybe if he'd had it on hand things would have gone differently. His head swam, making Ron groan and clutch his forehead. Blimey, that hurt.

He tried to sort out his feet, tell them to go one after the other in a straight line, but they just didn't _want_ to. All he wanted to do was curl up on the floor and sleep, but then it might come back.

Actually, why would it? That thing thought it had succeeded in turning him into whatever bloody beast they were, so would stay away. It had to, or Ron would kill it. And what else was there that could do worse than literally suck the blood out of him? Maybe a werewolf would turn up and take a chunk out of him, or a hungarian horntail fly over and tear his head off. That would just make his night.

Ron stumbled home, neck still twinging painfully which he countered by pressing his hand to the inury and shirt torn and blood-soaked. His pulse was painfully slow, every space between each beat dragging on for eternity. But he couldn't think of that - he had to somehow get to his room (with an adjoining bathroom, to clean himself up) without anyone seeing him. It was too early for anyone to be asleep yet, but maybe they would have gone to their rooms already?

He was bloody well hoping so, because he was quite frankly screwed. He had been attacked by a vampire, had its blood poured down his throat and then left to make his way home. or maybe they had left him to die. He couldn't tell anyone. Not even his family. Ron knew he would never speak of this encounter again, because just a rumour that he was... whatever that stranger was was fuel enough to have him locked up and the key thrown away.

Ron thought since he wasn't in the spotlight so much, that stuff like this might not happen to him. But looking at the past few years that fact proved to be very unrealistic, so he wondered why he ever thought he had a chance.

* * *

His head was absolutely killing him, the pain making him squeeze his eyes shut again and hope that sleep came to take him away again. But he was offered no such luxury. The burning went from his brain to his neck to his stomach and then to his toes, chasing away the dregs of sleep.

Somehow he had gotten up to his bedroom without seeing another soul. Ron had heard voices in the living room, but ignored them and continued up the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister and pulling himself up, up, up to the level that his room was on and crashed onto his bed, slamming the door shut behind him. He fell into a state somewhere between asleep and awake, lethargic but in too much pain (and too freaked out) to sleep all night. Every time he closed his eyes he was back under the night sky, that vampire tearing open his neck and drinking from it.

He pushed himself up onto his pillows and found that some of the pain had subsided, allowing him to open his eyes and look around his room properly. Oh wow, he could see what people meant when they said his bright orange room was a little too much to look at sometimes. He had probably gotten used to it over the years, though.

Ron yawned, reaching up a hand to scratch the back of his neck. His hand touched something wet... and warm. Oh God - for the millionth time that night the forest, the stranger and what they did came rushing at him again. He got up, ignoring the dizziness and strode over to the mirror, pulling off his shirt to examine the mark.

Two puncture wounds on his neck, still fresh and bleeding. He grabbed a towel to staunch the bleeding, hissing when the rough fibres bristled over the wound. He glanced into the mirror to see himself pale and drawn out, blue eyes wide and fearful. Would they soon turn red? He leaned against the sink, hips resting against the cool porcelain and gazed out of the window and the pale blue early-morning sky, lazy rays of cold sun thrown across the lawn. Would he not be able to go out in the sunlight soon?

Ron could feel his vision blurring, and so turned on the tap to wash away the onslaught of sudden cold sweat. Would he be able to eat food anymore? What about getting a girlfriend? No girl would want to date him now. He growled. Getting a girlfriend should be the least of his worries right now - all he should care about was whether or not that thing had succeeded in what it stalked him out to do. Ron knew that was no accident; hell, they had even mumbled, "It's your turn now," before forcing its blood down his throat.

He shook his head angrily, stomping back into his room to tug on a t-shirt. There was probably nothing wrong with him, so he didn't even know why he was letting those possibilites cross his mind. He wasn't a _vampire._ He just had a bad experience with one, and although he was admittedly pretty shaken, nothing was going to come of it.

Ron sighed and slumped back onto his bed, rubbing his face tiredly. He was still absolutely exhausted, his muscles aching and eyes closing shut of their own accord. Maybe this was just a cold. Maybe he could sleep it off and be fine, and then nobody would ever have to know how close he had come to dying and coming back as a beast.

He lay back, thoughts buzzing. But- but if he _was_ one of them... what the hell was he going to do? He couldn't spend his entire life in the shadows, sleeping during the day and feasting on humans at night. He had heard all sorts of stories from dad about how they dealt with them at the Ministry. And what about school? Would he have to disappear, quit Hogwarts early and... well, then what would he do? Muck about on the streets? He had no cash to do that with, apart from a measly few galleons he had saved up over the summer.

And what about his family? What would they think if he was one of _them_? To add to that, vampires were known to be supporters of You-Know-Who. Would anyone trust him?

No, no, he was thinking too far ahead. This wasn't definite. He couldn't be a vampire. He just couldn't. It would destroy his entire life. Ron huffed and turned to stare at the open bathroom door where his bloody t-shirt lay on the floor in tatters. He would have to get rid of that. But later, after he'd slept some more. This could just be some crazy dream that Ron was overreacting to. He needed to stop thinking about all the what if's. He just needed to stop thinking and thinking for two bloody seconds, so he could keep his composure and not do anything rash, like jumping to the conclusion that he was vampire. Because he wasn't, he just wasn't.

Ron Weasley was not a vampire. Not yet, at least.

* * *

I don't own anything, all rights to J.K. Rowling. Now, I will say that my representation of vampires may differ (as all of them do) but will probably be some mess of random wikipedia threads cobbled together to make some kind of vampire, as well as pinched ideas from popular shows/books. But since vampires don't exist it doesn't matter too much. Also, I'm sorry if this felt kind of rushed, but I didn't want to drag it out too much.

Thanks for reading! And RIP Ron. Bye, Tea33.


	2. A Short Guide To Vampirism

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Two: A Short Guide To Vampirism

Ron shrugged off his clothes, turning on the shower before stepping in. The water was cool on his back, warming up far too slowly for his liking but soothing the sore wound on his neck. It was so odd - the flesh had healed, scabbed over like it was a few weeks old rather than just a day. But considering the odd circumstances around which he got it Ron wasn't too surprised.

He had awoken just a few minutes ago, feeling much better apart from an agonsisingly dry throat, like he hadn't drank anything for days. A few gulps of water from the tap hadn't helped much, so he had decided to step into the shower. He needed one anyway since he neglected that duty for sleep last night after he returned from his run. He had been too shaken to do much else other than just... process.

It was still hard to just think about, cast his thoughts back to the forest and that monster. Ron much preferred skipping over the topic completely and thinking about much nicer things, like what was for breakfast. The sunny rays spilling through the window had been pleasant to bask in, lighting up the room and promising for another warm summer day. He would have to remember suncream, though, since even just standing by the window for a few minutes had irritated his skin and made it itch slightly. Weird.

He reached for the soap, dropping it twice before properly picking it up. His skin was still a little sensitive, twinging painfully as he scrubbed away. The mirror had revealed him to still be looking rather pale and sickly, eyes even appearing darker than the usual sky-blue and shadows encompassing them. It was all strange, because he was actually feeling pretty good, all traces of the splitting headache from the previous night gone.

Stepping out from under the water and turning it off, he reached for a towel and dried off before dressing quickly. As he rummaged around in his drawers he noticed the bloody, torn t-shirt he had stuffed in there before stepping in the shower. He really needed to get rid of that. Ron pushed it to the back of his mind, figuring he'd find time to do it later. There were still weeks left until the first of September.

* * *

Ron walked into the kitchen to find his mum, dad and Ginny all eating breakfast together, tucking into bowls of cereal and bacon sandwiches.

Ginny snickered. "Good to see you, Sleeping Beauty."

He blinked at her in surprise. "What?"

She laughed again and went back to her toast, shaking her head. His mother frowned at her disapprovingly and came over to rub Ron's face affectionately. "Are you alright now, love?"

He batted her away. "Gerrof, mum. Can someone explain to me what's going on?"

His father finished taking a long swig of his tea and set the mug down on the table. "You really don't know?" he asked, face mirroring Ron's in confusion.

"Yeah, and you're starting to freak me out. Is everything alright?"

"Oh, fine, love. You've just been asleep for an entire day."

Ron looked at his family in alarm, wondering when someone was going to jump out and say, 'Just kidding!' But they all looked completely serious, apart from Ginny who was smirking amusedly.

"You serious?" he said, alarmed, and his mother nodded.

"I tried to wake you, but you were out for the count. I thought it'd be best to let you sleep, since you were looking a little peaky." She pushed his face to the side, eyes scanning him methodically. "You still are."

Ron moved away from his mother, taking a seat at the table and reaching for some toast and bacon to make into a sandwich. "I wasn't feeling too well. But I'm much better now." His mum looked sceptical at that, so he took a bite of toast to prove otherwise. But the bread was like carpet in his mouth; clumping together uncomfortably in his throat and causing his stomach to suddenly lurch.

He got up up quickly, chair screeching on the floor loudly before dashing off to the bathroom next door and throwing up.

After flushing away his barely-digested breakfast, Ron slumped back against the tiles and brushed his hair back from his clammy forehead, breathing in and out slowly to try and catch his breath. He groaned, leaning his head back onto the wall behind him.

Ginny appeared in the doorway, munching on a piece of toast. "All better now, are we?"

"Sod off, Ginny," said Ron, aiming a roll of toilet paper at her head but being interruptedby Mrs Weasley bustling in.

"Ginny, get away from your brother, he doesn't need a crowd right now," she scolded her, and Ginny rolled her eyes and sauntered off, leaving Ron hunched over by the toilet.

His father appeared by the door, frowning slightly and looking down at him concernedly. "You alright?" he said.

"Dunno, really," Ron sighed.

He nodded. "Alright." He turned to his wife planting a short kiss on her cheek and smiling. "I need to get going for work. Can you patch him up?"

His wife smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Of course, Arthur, you get going. See you later, dear."

Ron winced as his father placed another kiss on her cheek before finally departing. He heard the distant call of, "Bye, Dad!" From her sister before the slam of the door. The fond smile vanished from his mother's face, gaze now much more concerned. She placed her hands on her hips, fingers resting firmly atop her patched apron.

"Now then, you," she said, tone severe. "Did you come into any contact with poisonous plants, creatures, or substances in the past few days?"

Ron swallowed. Should he tell her? About the stranger? If there was ever a time it would be now. Distractedly, he ran a hand over the back of his neck, fingers brushing on the scarred puncture wounds. Luckily they weren't too noticeable, since they looked a lot like freckles but maybe a charm to conceal it would be better to keep it hidden.

Or it could be completely unconnected. Perhaps he ran past a spinefish bush - those were known to give rashes and make you feel ill.

"I don't reckon so, mum, but I did go running through the forest the other day. I could have accidentally touched something there."

Mrs Weasley nodded. "Quite right, Ronald. I'll give you a few potions and then you can rest for today. That should sort you out, regardless of whatever you caught. It could just be the flu."

"Right," Ron said quietly, smiling broadly to reassure his mother.

She grimaced, bending closer to murmur, "You poor dear," and planting a kiss on his cheek before bustling off to the kitchen.

This was not good. How could he feel so energetic but then throw up before his food had even reached his stomach? And what was with sleeping through an entire day? It probably explained why he was still so thirsty, but not anything else.

Maybe he was overreacting. The maniac who had attacked him in the forest had absolutely nothing to do with this.. but the voice in his head urging him that nothing happened that night was getting less and less sure.

* * *

After having several potions forced down his throat, Ron had decided to flop down in the living room after his mother refused to let him go anywhere else, wanting to keep an eye on him. But after just ten minutes she had left on the premise of needing to get started on some household chores, leaving him to lay on the sofa with just a few books tucked beside him to keep him company.

So, he was completely bored. And there was this uncomfortable itchy feel in his bones, like something was crawling around under his skin. Again he couldn't help wondering if it was from the encounter in the forest.

His mother had offered to fetch him something to eat, but he had refused. Just the thought of trying to eat again made him want to run to the toilet, something as a generally permanently-hungry person he had never really experienced before. This was all so _strange._ What was going on with him?

And he was still so fucking thirsty, so much it almost hurt. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, throat sore and rough. He had downed three or four glasses of water, but nothing seemed to help. It was like there was a faint buzzing between his eyes, making it almost impossible for him to focus on anything. But apart from that he was actually alright.

Another odd thing was that when his mother had pressed a hand to his forehead, checking his temperature, she had leapt back, exclaiming in surprise that he was freezing. And it was true. He _was_ really cold - unnaturally so on such a warm day.

So things were starting to make a horrible amount of sense. Ron wasn't sure he could dismiss that encounter so easily anymore, not when there were so many signs that things were not okay. He had a sinking feeling it all wasn't going to go away if he just ignored it.

Ron stood up, stretching out his limbs and walking over to the window. He was tired of just sitting there, doing nothing. It was so boring. His eyes roamed the surrounding fields, trying to ignore the vague tingling that erupted all over his arms as the sunlight hit his body. It looked pretty peaceful out there: just the softly-rippling waves of tall grass and trees in the distance. His eyes caught on a small clump of forest, the one he was dragged into and attacked by that man. The beaten track covered in leaves was scrutinised under his gaze, and he unintentionally squinted as he looked for something he couldn't name.

Movement. A rustling in the bushes, and suddenly, there he was. Hiding in the deep shade cast by the looming trees stood the stranger, looking just as insane as he did last- no, the night before last. It was strange trying to adjust to losing an entire day. Anyway, there he was, dark eyes menacing despite how far away he was. He held up a dirt-covered hand, and moved it forward and back, clearly beckoning him over.

Ron's first instinct was to go over. He backed away from the window, halfway to the door of the living room before he realised how _stupid_ that was. What the fuck was he doing?

One thought presented itself loud and clear: how else was he going to get answers? This guy clearly knew more about this than him, otherwise why would he call him over? He knew what he was doing that night. "Now it's your turn," echoed over and over in his mind, and Ron could remember what lying there in the dirt felt like, breathing in the sweet summer air and dusty scent of the man biting into his neck whilst his vision blurred further and further out of focus. Then, the stranger's blood slipping down his throat. Stumbling home in the dark, sleeping for an entire day, the tingling on his skin as the sunlight hit it, the intense thirst that threatened to tear his system apart, darkened eyes and pale skin in the mirror, cool temperature.

It was no accident what happened. And this guy had better give him some _fucking_ answers, otherwise he would hex him inside out.

* * *

Ron ran across the dry, yellow field, wand clenched in one hand and wincing at the brightness outside. The slight tingling inside was nothing compared to facing the dry heat out here. He had slipped out while his mother was busying herself in the kitchen, banging pots and pans covering the noise of the front door clicking shut.

He was almost to the clearing, and sprinted even faster as he neared the edge, anticipating the cold shade to soothe the burning. Ron flattened himself behind a tree, ducking out of sight of those painful beams of sunlight and sighed, remembering how he was thrown to the ground on this exact spot two days ago.

"Much better, right?" said a voice dryly, the stranger stepping into view. He slouched against a tree trunk opposite him, lounging on the bark and examining his filthy nails in a bored manner. Ron gaped at him, and he looked up, grinning sadistically.

Ron shook his head, eyes wide with fear. "What the _hell_ did you do to me?"

"Polite, aren't we?"

Ron glared at him. "You were the one that dragged me across the ground and- and-" he stopped short, swallowing before looking pointedly away in the other direction.

The stranger backed off the tree, looking at him amusedly. "What, can't say it?"

Ron met his eyes again, and the two maintained eye contact for a good minute before he finally grumbled and looked away. "Fine, that you... bit me, and drank my blood."

"And?"

He frowned. "And made me drink yours."

"So what does that mean? C'mon, Ron, you're a smart kid, you know this one. Connect the dots."

"How the fuck do you know my name?" Ron protested angrily.

The stranger held up a hand. "Doesn't matter, now, let's get back to my previous question. I am a vampire, I drank your blood, you drank mine, so therefore you are a..." he trailed off hopefully, enthusiasm falling flat as it became clear he wasn't going to respond.

"You- you destroyed my- what did you _do_?" Ron was having trouble getting out coherent sentences.

"Turned you into a vampire," the stranger replied, shrugging. He noticed Ron's alarmed look. "What? You knew it anyway, I just said it out loud."

"Yeah, well you're fucking wrong," said Ron, laughing a little at the end of his statement. The stranger cut him off.

The stranger moved closer, leering at him menacingly. "So you haven't noticed that you can't eat? Can't go out in the sun without it burning?" he hissed. "Can't seem to get rid of your thirst?"

"I-I slept for an entire day, that's why I'm thirsty," said Ron. "And how do you know all that?"

"It's a little different for each of us, but mostly the same template for transformation."

"The fuck are you on about with the whole 'us' thing?"

The stranger shook their head. "Stop denying it. The sooner you accept this, the sooner-"

"How am I supposed to accept this?!" Ron shouted. "That I might be a vampire! Well, excuse me if I'm having trouble _adjusting_ -"

"Would you shut up?" the stranger said with a faintly annoyed look. "I can't be bothered to listen to your bullshit, so shut up and let me talk." Ron didn't respond, his frown deepening. The stranger rolled his eyes. "Thank you. Anyway, right, so the first order of business is to get your ring sorted out. Now, luckily I already had one spare."

He dug around in a tattered pocket, unearthing a small silver ring with runic carvings running along the band and held it up to the light.

"This is a daylight ring. Has runes on it that stop you burning to a crisp everytime you step out the front door, but I still wouldn't recommend going out for more than a few hours-"

"What?" Ron looked at him blankly, confused to say the least. "I don't want to wear a ring."

The stranger's nostrils flared. "Well you're going to have to suck it up." He held it out, and frowned when Ron didn't take it. "Take it, for fuck's sake, I'm doing you a favour here. Most vampires'd kill to have one of these."

Ron grudgingly took the ring, spinning it between his fingers but not putting it on. "And you're quite convinced I'm a vampire? It could it just be-"

"Yes, yes I am. Your eyes have started to darken already." He said, pointing at Ron's face. "Now put the damn ring on," he hissed between gritted teeth.

Not wanting to find out what happened if he refused, Ron slipped the ring onto his finger and found it adjust accordingly. At once a satisfying coolness spread over his body, and when he stepped out of the shadow to found his skin unirritated. He walked back over to the tree and frowned at the stranger.

"Who are you anyway?"

They sighed. "Oh, thanks so much for giving you a rune ring for free..." he caught Ron's unaffected gaze and rolled his eyes. "I'm Mordecai."

"I don't care what your name is, I want to know why you're so convinced you've turned me into a vampire."

Mordecai nodded. "I'm not just convinced. I know." Ron scoffed and shook his head, at which he growled. "If you want to deny it, then fine. I just need to teach you the ropes and then I can go."

Ron frowned. "You're- it sounds like you're doing a _job-_ "

"Wow, such genius-"

"Who for? Who would send you after _me?"_

"I am forbidden from telling you until the time is right." he replied smoothly.

Ron frowned. "Why? Can't-"

"Why do you ask so many questions? Can you shut up so I can keep talking, please? Do you want to know why you were bitten in the first place or how to deal with it?"

"I would rather both, but... since it seems like I can't have the first I'll take the second," Ron grumbled.

Mordecai pulled a face. "Stop being so difficult and just listen. Okay, so next you need to learn how to hide your eyes and teeth-"

"Teeth? Why my teeth?"

"Why d'you think, so nobody sees you have great big fangs," he replied, and that was when Ron realised his very normal-looking eyes that were a dark shade of brown and un-fang-like canines. He could have sworn last night they were blood-red, and he had these great big fangs...

Mordecai rolled his eyes again and continued. "Keep up, Ron, we don't have all day. So are you familiar with the glamour spell?"

"Yeah, but I can't cast it."

"Then learn, you oaf-"

"Would you stop insulting me? You're the insane one here-"

Mordecai glared at him fiercely. "I will if you stop _interrupting_ me. Just let me speak, okay?"

Ron considered him for a second before nodding. "Okay. I'll listen." Maybe he could slip away whilst this madman was going off on his spiel.

He raised an eyebrow. "Good. Now, you need to practise glamours, to hide your eyes, teeth and the mark on your neck. That's it, really, for glamours." He blew out a slow breath before continuing.

"Next, mirrors. You need your ring on to be able to be seen in them, so keep it on at all times. However, it's a dead giveaway of what you are so don't go flashing it about thought because it can't be glamoured. Do you get it? Do you want the Ministry to whip you off to Azkaban so you never see the light of day again?"

Ron shook his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. He was going on like Ron was an _actual_ vampire.

_He couldn't be, right? No- no way..._

Mordecai stopped short, glaring at him.

"What are you laughing about?"

Ron wasn't laughing but something in his expression had drifted to absent while he was engrossed in his thoughts. Mordecai looked furious.

"Do you think I'm joking?" he hissed. "Some insane madman trying to convince you what you are?" Ron didn't respond; it didn't seem to reassure the... the vampire, thought.

 _Right? He couldn't be one of... those_.

Mordecai laughed before pulling back, the amused grin on his face suddenly gone. "You won't think it's so funny when you murder your entire family."

Ron's blood ran cold, and before he could think he had pulled out his wand and had it aimed right at Mordecai's throat. "Don't- don't say that!" he yelled, but Mordecai didn't look bothered in the least, faint traces of amusement blossoming in his expression.

"So, you take on some big bad Death Eaters in the Ministry and you think you're ready for the real world, do you?" he said smoothly, expression cold. Ron swallowed but continued glaring at him fiercely. Mordecai smiled. "That's right. I know what happened that day. I know who you are, who your friends are, each member of your family like it's my own." he spat. "I know everything - like how you haven't told anyone about what happened the day before last, how your mother thinks you're ill, how your father couldn't care less-"

"You don't know that. He had to get to work, and there are bigger things going on right-"

"Of course! How could I forget? The Order of the Phoenix. Well, Ron, I'm afraid they don't let vampires in there-"

"I AM NOT A VAMPIRE!" Ron snapped, jabbing his wand at Mordecai. "And if you say another word, I will hex you-"

"Expelliarmus!" The spell caught him off guard, and to his horror his wand was snatched from his hand and went sailing over to the man standing opposite him. Mordecai twirled it in his fingers like a baton, grimy hands touching the end softly.

"Haven't had one of these before _,"_ he remarked, tucking it away into his pocket before turning back to face Ron. "Now then, you need to shut the _hell_ up, and listen to me. I am doing you a favour here. I could have just thrown the rune ring at you and left you to figure all of this shit out yorself. But since you are one of the densest idiots I have ever met in my nearly one hundred years, I can tell this is going to take a while to sink in." He pulled out Ron's wand again, and handed it to him. "So, will you listen? I'm only going to say it all once, and you can take it or leave it."

Ron bit his lip. "Fine. I still think you are absolutely insane, but if I listen to whatever the hell you have to say, will you leave me and my family alone?"

"Yes. I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to."

"Me neither."

Mordecai exhaled slowly before beginning again, dark eyes glaring at him. "It's the same with shadows as it is mirrors. And photos. The same rune works on cameras too, so avoid taking any pictures without the ring on. Or some other item of jewellery with the same runes on, I don't know. You could carve the runes into a mirror, too, but it's difficult and you don't need to do that anyway with the ring." Ron didn't respond. "Okay, next, blood. It will be difficult to be around people when thirsty, and you can last around a week before you go bat-shit crazy and hunt anything with a pulse, so don't skip meals."

"What about normal food?" Ron hadn't been planning on asking any questions, but it had just slipped out.

"Yes. You can learn to keep it down, but more on that later."

"Then couldn't you just eat normal stuff and skip the whole... blood thing?"

"No. You need blood to survive."

"How can you be sure?"

Mordecai shook his head. "You just can't. You're a vampire, for Christ's sake, it's what we do."

Ron murmured under his breath that that was what _he_ thought, and Mordecai glared at him, daring him to repeat what he said. He stayed silent.

He nodded. "Anyway, moving on, I would advise you look up all laws concerning vampires, what can kill them, all that stuff. It can really come in handy."

He paced back and forth, muttering to himself. "Anything else... oh, yeah, immortality. You don't age, can't have kids whatever. The only way you can die is from fire or a killing curse. The last one isn't really death, more putting you in a coma. But you can't be brought back again. There are some exceptions, but we'll go over them later. Like aconite - that's a purple powder dangerous to both vampires and werewolves, but it can't kill you. Just injure. Oh, and there are runes weapons. But like I said, later. I'm just giving you a quick guide to vampirism."

"Later? So I have to see you again?" said Ron hotly, unable to keep distaste from slipping into his tone.

"Oh, you're so kind," Mordecai spat. "But if you keep denying this I may have to make a return trip. Got it?"

"Right," Ron replied. "But I thought you said that if I listen to what you say, you'd go-"

"But you're not listening, are you?"

Ron snorted slightly, but didn't say anything more.

Mordecai's gaze hardened. "Now we get to the more unpleasant topics. Blood. You have to drink it to survive, so it doesn't matter how you get it but you _still have to have it. T_ he easiest way is to just go up to someone and... do what your instincts tell you to."

"Do what your instincts tell you to? What kind of rubbish is that-"

"Just shut up - or would you rather I tell you in excrutiating detail exactly how you drink someone's-"

"Alright! Alright! I get the point!"

Mordecai nodded. "Good. But I'll still have to teach you how to do it without blowing your cover."

"Wha- teach me?! No fucking way I'm drinking that shit," said Ron, gesturing wildly. "And why do you care so much about my 'cover'?"

"What do you think a man like Albus Dumbledore would do if he found out you turned? He would want to know by who, and then I would be killed. And, believe it or not, I do have a life outside of teaching you how to be a complete screw-up of a vampire, and I'd rather not be thrown out into the sunlight without a ring."

"Fair enough, but I'm still not drinking blood-"

"You don't have a choice. I will teach you how I do it, but first... you have to get your first taste of it."

"The fuck? No way, I'm not doing that!" But his complaints fell on deaf ears, as Mordecai had already walked off in the other direction. "Wait! I have to talk to-" But Ron's voice cut out, his surprise and then horror stealing away. There was a body slumped beside a mouldering tree stump, the man looking to be around thirty with a crop of thick, blonde hair. Ron jumped back, clutching his chest.

"Who is that?!" he hissed. "And are they- you know-"

Mordecai rolled his eyes. "No, he's not dead. Just asleep."

"And why did you kidnap him and bring him here?" Ron snapped before looking around nervously. "What if someone sees?" He shook his head irritably. "And, more to the point, why the hell are they here?!"

He folded his arms. "Food. Duh."

Ron supressed a shudder. The fuck? He wasn't going to do that. No way. He wasn't a- whatever that guy was. He released a breath slowly. "How?"

Mordecai's head snapped back to face him, moving away from the man unconscious on the floor. "Right. Well it's pretty self-explanatory, don't you think?"

Ron growled. "This is insane."

"You don't know the half of it," Mordecai muttered, bending down to scrabble around in the dirt. "Aha," he exclaimed, straightening up, hand now holding a particularly sharp rock. Ron wondered if it was the same one he had used yesterday. "You could just use your teeth, but that's a bit messy. And you don't have any yet." He reached over to pick up the man's wrist, positioning the stone over the tan skin.

"Stop!" Ron cried, and Mordecai stopped in his tracks.

"What?"

"Isn't there like a... less murdery-sort of way to do this? Or one that involves less kidnapping?"

"Yeah, this is it. Now come on, you need to watch close-up. There's a bit of an art to-"

Ron swallowed. "No."

"What? I thought I already told you to just shut up and go along with-"

"No. I won't be a part of this messed-up bullshit." Ron laughed wildly. "In fact, this whole 'vampire thing' you made up just so I could be a part of whatever fucking twisted issues you have. Well I won't. I won't do it. You can fuck off, because I'm going back home to my family where nobody is trying to trick me into... whatever this is." Ron shook his head again, throwing a revolted look at Mordecai, who was still perched over the motionless body of the man, expression unimpressed to say the least. "And you'd better leave me the fuck alone, alright?"

He didn't wait for an answer, marching off back in the direction of the Burrow. The cool steel of the ring on his finger reminded him of the purpose it served, but he ignored it. Ron didn't want to even think about that psychopath again. He was insane.

All of that bullshit about vampires, and that he had turned him into one! Ron laughed to nobody in particular muttering insults under his breath. That freak had probably passed a disease onto him, one that meant his skin was more sensitive in the sun or something. It was a more reasonably conclusion than... vampires.

Ron grumbled, pressing a hand to his throat which now felt rather swollen. He was still so fucking thirsty...

He was on the doorstep of his house when he remembered that he was supposed to be ill, lying on the sofa. Instead he was out meeting vampire-obsessed maniacs in the field over the back of his house.

And shit... the guy... would Mordecai (if that was even his name) let him go, or subject him to the same kind of insanity he tried on Ron? Was he a muggle? It had looked like it, from the clearly un-magical watch on his wrist, minus any planets.

Still, Ron could only imagine what a freak like that would do to him. Maybe he would write a letter to the Muggles who dealt with that stuff. Pilots, weren't they? Ron really didn't know what to do about this.

Yes, they could send someone out there to collect him and patch him up. Ron eased open the door quietly, gently so that it hardly squeaked.

Of course, though, his mother was waiting for him on the other side of the door. "And where have you been?" she demanded, hands on her hips and expression thunderous. "I thought I told you to stay in and rest."

"I'm sorry, mum, but I just got so bored. I'm fine, I really don't need to sit around and do nothing all day."

She pursed her lips before sighing. "Well, you are looking much better... bit more colour in your cheeks," she said, reaching a hand up to brush the side of his face. "Still quite cold," she tutted, "But you are free to go. If you feel any worse-"

"I'll tell you!" called Ron, already halfway up the stairs to his room. Mrs Weasley shook her head and tutted some more before turning back to the kitchen.

Ron walked past Ginny, who was hanging over the banister. "Morning, Ronnikins. Feeling better?" she simpered.

"Shut up, Ginny," he grumbled with a smirk, reaching the door to his room and going to sit down at his desk. Once there, he reached across for parchment and a quill. Right... who should he address this to? Pigwideon squeaked in his cage, and Ron frowned at him.

"If I put 'To the Politicians,' on the front of this d'you reckon you'd know where to go?" Pigwideon just hooted, so Ron shrugged and began to write. Half an hour later, and he was finished. He cleared his throat, and began to read.

"To the Politicians," he said. "Whilst out on a walk early this morning, I spotted a disturbance in a nearby patch of trees, and upon further inspection it turned out to be a man with another man." He frowned. "No, that doesn't sound right." Ron picked up his quill, scratched out a few lines and began again. "Whilst out on a walk early this moring, I noticed a man, possibly stunned, left up against a tree. Something didn't feel right, so I didn't attempt to approach him, instead deciding to go home and write this letter to notify you of the situation. Yours, a concerned hiker."

Ron sighed, and dropped the paper, watching it float down onto his desk. "Shit, Pig, that still doesn't sound right. It sounds weird. But how do I phrase it so these plumbers understand it?" He groaned in exasperation. "Fuck it, I'll send it as is. You get the idea, don't you?"

Pigwideon just stared back at him blankly.

"Oh, what the hell, you're an owl. What am I talking to you for?" Ron snapped, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. Should he tell anyone about this? Maybe he should write a second letter to the Ministry? Ron was perfectly content to just forget about the whole situation, but what if the guy came into the house? Would he be able to bypass the wards? No doubt the guy was insane, so he had probably broken into people's houses, or at least knew how to.

But then again, the wards were pretty powerful. Kingsley had come round early in the summer to set them up, and they blocked unknown magical signatures. Ron hoped Mordecai wasn't some genius with runes. He sighed, examining the ring still sitting on his finger, runes etched all along the band. He had taken it off, but the sunlight hurt without it. Had he been cursed? Was it temporary? Most curses were, and it was almost impossible to cast a permanent one without the victim knowing and not allowing it to. There was a whole ritual with curses, too, and Ron hadn't participated in any of them recently.

Ron picked up a second piece of parchment, and addressed it to the Law Enforcement Office, writing an anonymous tip similar to the one he was going to send to the politicians, but with slightly different wording of course.

Once he was done, Ron turned to his owl, reaching through the bars to have Pig nip affectionately at his finger.

"Am I going mad, Pig?" he asked softly. His owl hooted in response, and Ron sighed dejectedly. Really the sensible thing to do was march over to his mother and spill the whole sorry tale, but he just didn't want to. She would ask so many questions, as well as wanting him examined. And if he actually was... a vampire, which he wasn- agh, no, he could be, though. This was so bloody confusing. But really, vampirism fit whatever illness he had contracted... but just because it was the simplest explanation didn't mean it was the right one.

But if he was (just hypothetically) there was no place for vampires in magical society. Or Muggle. He would have to have an escort watching him night and day, or be forced live on a remote island somewhere. Or just be killed.

Ron ripped his window open, furiously addressing the letter to the Politicians before tying it onto Pig's leg. "Alright, Pig, you know where to go? For this one the Magical Law Enforcement, and this one like Magical Law Enforcementbut for Muggles, alright?" His owl gave a short, joyful shriek, and Ron frowned. "Go on then, you need to deliver them fast!"

Watching the shape of his energetic owl fly off into the distance, Ron sighed again before falling backwards onto his bed. This whole situation was fucked up.

* * *

Darkness fell around the Burrow. Ron had spent all day in his room; vanishing meals whenever they were sent up and glaring at his bedroom wall.

A part of him muttered that not eating for two days could hardly be considered normal - nor was being allergic to sunlight, or your eyes suddenly turn a shade of dark, murky blue when they had been the light colour of a summer sky his entire life. There weren't any curses that could do that; except one, of course.

The thirst, too. None of it was normal. And taking into account what happened to him two nights ago, Ron was faced with only the undeniable truth.

He was a vampire. One with many, many questions for the one that did this to him. There was no cure for this - hundreds had been tried over the years, but not one of them worked. Ron just wanted to know how he could live with this and hide it from his family and friends.

He needed, as Mordecai had put it, a short guide to vampirism. How he could finish school, get a job, fight in the Order and still have contact with everyone without arousing suspicion. And where else could he get it, really?

This was how he attempted to reassure himself as he walked back down to the patch of trees, moon round and candescent in the sky. He had waited until everyone had gone to bed before heading out, so it was around one in the morning. Surprisingly, though, he wasn't scared. The darkness held nothing worse than what he suspected he had turned into.

"Mordecai?" he said somewhat tentatively, nearing the shadows of the trees. Ron waited by the edge of them; eyes scanning the gloom and ears trying to pick up any noise.

"Come back, did you?" a voice came from behind him, and Mordecai stepped into view. His eyebrow was crooked in amusement, and his dark eyes pierced into his. He smirked. "I knew you would, because I'm right."

"I..." Ron didn't know what to say. It was true - he had come back because Mordecai had been correct. "I- yes, I need to know... what the hell is going on."

Mordecai considered him for a moment. "Alright then. Let's continue." Without waiting for a reply he moved past him swiftly, and Ron followed, trying to flatten the small shot of gratitude that Mordecai had let him come back after saying all of those things about him.

Sometimes, in a situation like this, Ron thought about what his friends would do. Hermione would deny it; say that vampires was far too ridiculous of a conclusion and that he should not be back here. Harry... would probably kill himself if he found out what he had turned into, just so everyone else would be safe. But Ron wasn't his friends. He could make his own choices - and his choice was to go for which answer fit the most, and get help from someone offering it. And hell... if this guy was wrong (and dear God Ron hoped he was) then he would just be a human with rather a lot of knowledge about vampires.

Mordecai paused, and so did Ron. The man was slumped over exactly as he had been before, arm slung over a small clump of daisies. Ron swallowed and drew nearer. "So do I just...?"

Mordecai nodded. Ron licked his lips nervously, picked up his arm, turned it over... and found a slim red line etched into his wrist. He turned back to look at Mordecai with a frown that only grew when he realised he was laughing silently.

The snickering became more vocal.

"W-what?"

"You were really going to do it, weren't you?" Mordecai snorted, reaching into his pocket and plucking out a bottle. "Here," he said, tossing it over. Ron turned it over in his hands, examining the thick red substance inside it.

"I collected that as soon as you left," he added. "Knew you'd be back."

Ron nodded. "Is he... dead?"

He shook his head. "If I killed every person I took blood from, the bodies would start piling up like mad. Plus it's not exactly exciting."

"Can you teach me how to do that?"

"Sure I can. Just drink that first," he said, nodding at the bottle.

Ron uncorked it, but paused when it was halfway to his lips. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"If nothing happens, then you're still human. If it does... well, you'll see."

Ron nodded, trying to chase away the bundle of nerves in his stomach before tipping it back.

His first thought was disgust. It was warm and not exactly smooth, so he felt like gagging as it trailed down his throat. But then he could taste it as it flowed through his body; finally quenching the thirst that had taunted him all day long, and Ron was satisfied, disappointed in fact as the bottle became empty.

Lowering the bottle from his lips, Ron felt indescribably happy. Happier than he had done before in his life. That was what it felt like in that moment - all that mattered was the euphoria that ensued after draining that blood. But he was quickly sobered by the amused look Mordecai threw his way. He stood up.

"Don't- don't say anything," he muttered, handing the empty bottle back to him.

Mordecai bit back a grin. "Didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to." Although his brain was now thinking more clearly than ever before, insides humming with energy, Ron could feel his heart shattering. He knew exactly what his enjoyment off that beverage meant.

"I was right though, wasn't I?" said Mordecai dryly.

Ron didn't reply.

Mordecai looked at him. "What convinced you?"

Ron frowned. "What?"

"Why did you come back? I thought for sure you were gone for good."

Twisting the ring sat on his finger, Ron swallowed, relishing the sweet and tangy taste. "The rune ring. I figured... if you were right about that, then maybe you were telling the truth. And there really wasn't any other explanation."

Mordecai looked down at the man snoring at their feet. "Well, now you have irrefutable evidence."

"Unless that wasn't-"

"Shut up, Ron. You know as well as I do that was blood. I can demonstrate by getting it fresh from the source if you like," he said, nodding down at the man. Ron shook his head quickly.

"How can I go back to Hogwarts, though?"

Mordecai grimaced. "With great difficulty." He sniffed. "So I take it you don't want to quit your old life and start somewhere new? Most fresh vampires do."

Ron sighed heavily. "No. I have friends and family. They'd only try and look for me, which would make things worse."

He gave a wide, eerie smile. " _Good_."

"Right."

"Well, that blood will tide you over for a few days, and with the ring and a glamour you should be fine. Don't kill or reveal yourself," he added.

Ron nodded, and stood there for another minute. "So- can I go?"

Mordecai shrugged. "Sure."

Ron set off, going at a quick pace across the fields. But as soon as he reached the front door of the Burrow he realised a problem: He couldn't get in. The door was open, but he was blocked out by some invisible force. Probably a ward. Ron sighed and turned around; how could he have forgotten about how vampires need permission to cross the threshold? He supposed that now he had drank blood he was a 'proper vampire'.

Of course, when he reached Mordecai he was laughing hysterically, who he learned had been waiting for him to try that, because it was always so _hilario_ us.

* * *

Hi! I hope you enjoyed this chapter - it was a long one, I know. But thank you for reading, really.

-Tea33 :)


	3. The Vampire's Apprentice

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Three: The Vampire's Apprentice

Ron would have never believed so much could change in one night. But, as he stood in the early dawn outside the front door of his home he observed how wrong he had been, like almost everything these days. But when he knew so little about this new life, how could he even begin to predict what was in store?

Over the last few hours, Mordecai and Ron had hatched a plan on how they could get him into the house without arousing suspicion. Everything would have been for nothing if the boy was found out so quickly, Mordecai thought, watching from the shadows like he had done for weeks. The plan was to keep his true identity concealed, pack him off to Hogwarts and send for him when the time came. Not that he could know, of course. Ron was stupidly faithful to his Gryffindor and family roots, so would fight tooth and nail against every step of the way, and undoubtedly fail. He had no idea who he was dealing with. Mordecai almost felt sorry for him.

No - he couldn't be empathetic, to anyone. He had repressed those feelings for years and years, because otheriwse nothing would get done, and in his line of work that was essential. Besides, he was getting good money and other benefits with this job, so he would follow it through exactly as his employer wanted.

Ron blinked at the barely-risen sun peeking over the top of a clump of clouds, the purplish hue of the sky mellowing as time ticked by. Soon his dad would be out, on his way to work, and then he could finally collapse into his bed. He grumbled under his breath; cursing all this vampire tosh that prevented him from entering his bloody house. Surely as someone who had inhabited the place for sixteen years, he could be let in but no, since he didn't officially own the place he couldn't just walk in without permission. His parents' names were on the deeds of the land, they owned it, so one of them had to let him in. The same applied to Hogwarts, but since the teachers would push forward the 'welcome all!' thing he was hoping it wouldn't matter.

Hoping. If things didn't go that way, they could always sneak him in through a passage or dismantle the wards.

Ron felt terrifyingly helpless in this situation.

It was all because of the wards put up by Kingsley at the start of the summer, specifically ones barring certain branches of magic. They weren't terribly common but what with the war more and more witches and wizards had doubled the protection on their homes. What a shit time to be a vampire. At least there was no restrictions on Muggle places, unless a magical person had protected that space, or places like bars where entrance was free for all.

It was all about souls. That was what Mordecai had said: although his soul was long gone, Ron's physcial body was still there. Like an empty jar. That was why mirrors and photos wouldn't work, why his shadow was gone. All of it took the essence of your soul and left a print on the earth. But without it, he was nothing but inferi with a brain. Ron had shuddered when Mordecai told him he was practically a dead body walking.

"Human blood is the key to keeping us running," he had said. "Without it you go mad. You lose the privilege of your sanity, and become a monstrous shell whose only intent is slaughtering as many beings as you can for the blood."

Ron's eyes had widenened, curiosity getting the better of his instinct to shut up. "Have you ever seen it happen before?"

He had nodded. "Only a few times. Some denied it, went mad, ate their families and what choice does the Ministry have other than to put them down?"

Ron gulped, bringing himself back to the present. Part of him still wanted to believe this was some crazy dream, but if he ignored the evidence right in front of him he risked those around him.

All night long, they had practised the glamour spell. After consuming the blood Ron's transformation had been completed, turning his eyes red and giving him pointy canines. He had almost screamed when he saw himself in a mirror with the ring on.

Mordecai taught him to always take a mirror about with him, and never let go of his ring - that last one was priceless, more liable to be taken by other vampires than the Ministry. "It's always smart to carry one around with you, to check your glamour. They aren't always reliable, especially under stress. But you have complete power over it most of the time - you can make it flicker if you want."

Ron had frowned. "Why would I want to do that?"

Mordecai had grinned somewhat maniacally. "For scaring people, of course. Muggles usually dismiss it as the light playing tricks, and most wizards too. Trust me, it's a laugh."

Ron had frowned. "I'll... keep it in mind," he had said hesitantly. "What do I do if someone sees it flicker accidentally?"

He had shrugged. "Lie. Like I said, most people assume they just need more sleep or something stupid. They'll do anything to avoid looking insane and being wrong."

Ron could- no, he was still trying to convince himself just that. "To be honest, I'm really not sure if this is one insane dream."

Mordecai had shrugged again, looking up at the sliver of moon hanging in the sky. "Well, you'll be lucky to wake up then."

Ron shrugged, working off the residual tiredness in his dull muscles. Although he no longer needed to sleep the adjustment could take some time, but in a few days Ron would be an entirely different person. And it frightened him more than he could possibly put into words. The sun shone down brightly, oblivious to how terrible it made Ron feel that he could never embrace those warm rays ever again. They no longer burned him, but it was like they bounced off him and dripped onto the ground beside him, with his ring on presenting some wobbly kind of shadow.

"It's the best you'll get," Mordecai had said. "Sun's a difficult thing to deceive."

They just had to hope that nobody would notice Ron's odd shadow.

It wasn't for another hour that his father finally opened the front door, smiling at the lazy sunshine and anticipating the day of work ahead with enthusiasm. "Goodbye, love!" he called out behind him, presumably to Ron's mother. He looked around, eyes widening in surpise as they landed on him. He adjusted his glasses and frowned at him. "Ron. What're you doing out here so early?"

He shrugged, easy smile tugging at his lips. "Just went out for a walk. Thought the weather was nice." Suddenly, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. "Do you think Mum'll let me in with my muddy shoes?"

Arthur looked down at Ron's grimy trainers, encased in thick, gloopy muck and snorted. "No way. What did you do, clomp about in the bog?"

Yes, actually, he had done. Ron sighed as he remembered how he had to purposely stick his feet in marsh slime. Gross. But he couldn't spend the rest of the summer outdoors, so this was Mordecai's solution. Ron grinned. "Sorry, Dad. Stepped in it accidentally."

Arthur shook his head in exasperation, pulling out his wand to scourgify his trainers. "There. Now you won't get in trouble. Go on in; your mother's just setting the table for breakfast."

Ron beamed at his father. "Thanks, Dad," he replied before walking past him and into the house. This time, the wards embraced him rather than shut him out. It was like a hug rather than a shove - but hey, he could actually get into his house now! Thank Merlin he only had to do this once.

Freshly-cleaned shoes leading the way, Ron sped up the staircase and headed straight to his room. He missed it after spending all bloody night listening to the owls hooting in the softly swaying trees and wondering where he would be if things were different.

Mordecai had cooked up the plan to get him safely past the house boundaries almost immediately, simply laughing and saying, "I've done this a million times before. There are hundreds of ways to be invited into someone's home." Then, a strange look had come over his face, and he had turned to look at Ron quizzically. "That can be your homework. List ways to get permission to a place."

"You're giving me homework?!"

He had rolled his eyes. "Calm down, it won't be that hard. Practice for living as a vampire."

Ron had frowned at him dubiously. "And I thought you said you were going to leave. Are you coming back?"

"I don't think you're quite ready to do this on your own. Are you?"

Begrudgingly, Ron had shook his head. It was really no use denying it. And how was he supposed to know how to live as a vampire when he'd been human for nearly all of his life?

Being pulled back from his memories of the previous night, Ron's reveries were interrupted by the screech of Pigwidgeon, sitting contentedly in his cage in the corner. Well, the letters had been delivered then.

Oh, shit. The letters - that wasn't good. The politicians he wasn't so worried about, but oh fuck, somtimes the Ministry would send people to follow up on anonymous tips. What if they sent someone here?

However, there was also the very good chance they ignored it. Please let them ignore it.

Right - what should he do now? Ron had the whole day to waste away before he had to meet Mordecai again at the clearing when night fell. He had been told to go about his day as he normally did, but that old routine seemed so far away right then, when his limbs almost seemed to vibrate with unspent energy and at the same time aching for rest. This would definitely take some getting used to, he thought, sighing. All of this was still so new for him.

That night, after the rest of his family had gone to bed, Ron rose from his bed quietly. Silently, he slipped on his shoes and began to tiptoe out of his room and down the stairs. Shadows stretched down the stairwell in front; if the moonlight hadn't been guiding him, Ron wasn't sure he'd have been able to see. But if he tripped it wouldn't matter - the wound would heal instantly. Immortality, Ron had to admit, did have its perks.

He was glad that only half of his family was home. Fred and George were living in Diagon Alley, above their shop, Percy was still refusing to come home and Bill and Charlie were off doing their jobs. Only having to hide this from three people rather than eight was still difficult, but not as impossible. Ron was learning; adjusting to this new life. That was why he had to go and meet Mordecai until his glamours were flawless, excuses rolled off his tongue about why he had changed without hesitation and he knew how to find food without accidentally revealing himself as a mass-murdering vampire.

Stepping out the front door and closing it behind him with a sharp but muffled click, Ron set out across faded grass and to the clearing that had become familiar to him over the past few days. Before, it had just been a clump of trees, but now he thought of it as the place he died, where he drank blood for the first time. Disillusionment would be preferable for all activities at night, but since he didn't know how to perform that yet he would just have to hope nobody looked out of their window.

He twisted the metal band sat on his finger absent-mindedly, feeling the runes etched along the surface. Merlin, he felt like he was being far too calm about this, but what good would protesting do? His family would be concerned, demand tests, compensation for what Mordecai did to him. But then - well, then they would know what he was. Just trying to imagine the look in his mother's eye as she gazed upon him with the knowledge that he was a monster was enough for him to wish he really had died that night in the clearing. Hopefully his friends wouldn't notice how weird he was being when he went back to Hogwarts. All Ron wanted to be was normal - or however close to normal you could be at times like these.

Like Mordecai had said, they didn't let vampires in the Order. Would they do tests when he turned seventeen? Or, maybe, just maybe, they would overlook what he had turned into like with Remus and let him join. Ron bloody well hoped so, because there was no chance in hell he would go over to the other side.

Who had wanted him turned into a vampire? Ron was (he didn't like to dwell on it, but it was true) just another book on the shelf. There was nothing special, or different about him. Perhaps not anymore, but you could hardly call being turned into a vampire a gift. Part of him still wanted to murder Mordecai for ruining his entire fucking life, but then who would teach him how to deal with all of this?

The situation was entirely fucked up, was the conclusion he came to. No matter what he did he was still a beast, a monster liable to tear his family apart. Ron sighed, allowing himself to wallow in self-pity before roughly pushing it away as the form of Mordecai lounging against a tree came into view.

His listless gaze sharpened as it landed on him, waiting for Ron to come closer before beginning to speak. "Got your homework?"

Ron nodded, and reached into his pocket, bringing out a crumpled piece of parchment. Mordecai took it and scanned it quickly, eyes narrowing the further and further down the list he got. He sniffed, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the boy before scrunching up the paper in his hand and whispering a spell, a second later the parchment catching fire in his hand and being swallowed by greedy flames.

"A shit first attempt, but you'll get better," he said, brushing the ashes from his hands and leaving Ron to watch the remains of the list sweep into the air and be cast away by the summer breeze. He sighed, choosing not to say any more on the matter and followed Mordecai.

"Where-where are we going?" said Ron, trying to keep his tone light but failing miserably. They had been trudging through the undergrowth for the past few minutes; Ron tripping over brambles and bushes while Mordecai walked above it all gracefully, the twat. Ron grumbled under his breath. Finally, he stopped, allowing Ron to pause for a moment before tripping over a shrub. Swearing profusely, Ron scrambled off the floor to find Mordecai smirking at him.

"Unfortunately, balance isn't something that comes automatically with vampirism. You're going to have to learn that yourself."

He glared at him, but again said nothing.

Mordecai let his expression harden, and folded his arms. "I'm sure you're wondering why I asked to meet you here again."

"You could say that," Ron's voice felt dry and strained after not using it for the entire day, instead having chosen to hide away in his room again.

"I need to teach you how to be a good vampire. Not just a vampire, but a good one. As in you can defend yourself whilst still keeping your true nature hidden. And today, you failed stupendously." Ron looked confused at that, so Mordecai elaborated. "You haven't been acting like yourself at all. You never spend the entire day shut up in your room, or refuse meals, or be quiet. You're a gobby bastard embued with stupid Gryffindor big-headedness."

"Guessing you were a Slytherin, then?"

He looked amused at that. "No, actually, I never went to Hogwarts."

"Oh."

Ron shut up at that, from the look Mordecai was giving him that he wanted to get back to the subject. "But the point is, you're an idiot who's never had to hide anything before. Nothing that could destroy you if you don't keep it quiet."

Ron said nothing, mind turning for a second. He had kept secrets - like knowing Sirius' location last year, and of course the various shenanigans that occurred over the years from his parents or Ministry officials, but, Ron realised, he had never kept anything from his friends. They told each other everything, because after all they had been through, why wouldn't they?

"Your friends. Good friends, so you wouldn't keep things from each other. But this -" Mordecai stepped closer, cold eyes searching, "You _have_ to keep this from them. Do you understand?"

Could- could he read minds? Was that a certain talent that came from being what he was? Ron looked at Mordecai uncertainly, and saw that he was still waiting for an answer. Ron's eyebrows knitted together heavily. "I... Why not?"

"You were really going to tell your friends? Hermione Granger and Harry Potter; both firmly on the light side, and one of them's the Chosen One, for Christ's sake..." Mordecai laughed in his face. "You think they would overlook it, all in the name of friendship? Of trust? You can't trust anyone. Not anymore."

Ron swallowed, affronted. "I haven't made up my mind yet, but I know they would never do anything to me. No matter what I turned into. And you talk about trust like you think you deserve it. So far all you have done is- is turn me into a fucking vampire. What makes you think I should trust you?"

A cold smile spread wide on his face. "Trust? I don't want, or need your trust. All I need is for you to listen, and learn. Those were the terms of my agreement."

"Agreement? With who? Who wanted me turned into a vampire?"

"I can't tell you, but I'm sure if you think hard enough you'll come up with something. They were also the ones who gave me the information needed to get close to you and the people around you. Close enough to do something if you _refuse to cooperate_."

Ron's blood ran cold, his voice straining to push through his throat. "What- what do you mean, do something if I refuse to cooperate?"

"I mean that if you don't sit still like a good boy and listen, I will hurt your family and friends." He stepped back, expression plain as if they were talking about the weather. "You know first hand how easy it was to take you from your home. Just on your own I've already lured you out for the third time. Who knows what could happen here? You haven't told anyone what I did, who I am. You did send a letter, several, in fact, to the authorities, but they were easy enough to make disappear. I have you completely cornered." Mordecai's expression was completely blank and empty; souless, Ron realised.

"You would have already drawn your wand and had it pointed at my neck had you not been completely terrified. Not so scared you don't have your wits about you, though. That's Gryffindor bravery for you," he said in a mocking tone. "Danger sharpens your mind, but yours is stuck. You know fighting back is futile: like I said, I have you completely cornered, and I am far more dangerous than you had previously imagined, because not only am I wizard, I am also a vampire. One much older and much more lethal than you are currently."

Ron's eyes were wide in abject horror, breath heaving rustily through his chest as his pupils scanned the man in front of him frantically. The letter... how had he known? And forget the letter for a moment - how did he know the rest? Mordecai had been right: Ron was only just realising how he had fallen straight into the monster's trap, and that he'd been doomed from the start. He never had a chance, but the same couldn't be said for the people he loved. _They_ still had a chance, and as long as Ron went along with it they could pass through this ordeal unscathed, and safety for his family was what he wanted above all.

"What- what do I have to do?" Ron's voice was barely audible, but for the first time that night an emotion danced across Mordecai's face briefly: relief, he thought. But a second later it mingled with malicious satisfaction so terrible he thought he must have imagined it.

"Nothing. Nothing but _learn._ Take in everything I say, do whatever I ask you to and your family stays safe and oblivious. You might not think it now, but you're lucky. I could have just thrown the ring at you and left with no explanation. But then, I would have been killed if you exposed yourself." A sad smile flitted over his features before they hardened again, and he sighed slightly. "Right - let's get started."

Ron couldn't do anything but nod, and follow him once more into the darkness.

* * *

"So, you know the basics. Some of your basic weaknesses, and how to avoid them. Sunlight being dealt with with the rune ring, thirst alright for another few days, and glamour securely in place." Mordecai swung round, suspicion clear on his features. "You did learn the glamour spell, right?"

Ron nodded, swallowing once to try and rid himself of the residual horror of Mordecai's threats before reaching for his wand and swishing it through the air once. A sensation similar to the one when the invisibility cloak was torn off him swam through his body, and Ron felt like he could breath again. Glamours felt awfully constricting sometimes, but it looked like he was going to have to get used to it.

Mordecai's expression hardened. "Good, you can take it off. Put it on again."

Ron resisted the impulse to bite out a cynical remark that he wasn't some pet, but, well... he practically was. He had to do everything that weirdo said, and Ron only hoped he wasn't _that_ kind of weird. How old was he, anyway? From the lack of lines on his face Ron would have said around twenty or thirty, perhaps forty, but appearances could be deceiving, and taking into account that he was a vampire that probably multiplied whatever number he could think of by three. Plus, his face was covered in dirty, the mangy bastard.

Something Mordecai had said earlier came back to him. He was one hundred, wasn't he? Or nearly. That was perhaps the only thing Ron knew about him that was concrete.

Maybe if he knew more about him, then Ron could figure out who he was working for. And then... and then what? He couldn't exactly go charging after them and demand that they let him and his family go-

"Come on, I don't have all day," grumbled Mordecai. "Hang on - we do, actually, but if you don't hurry up I'll clamp your fingers together with a permanent sticking charm."

"Alright, I'm doing it," said Ron, trying to keep the venom out of his tone because Merlin knew it wouldn't improve the situation. He waved his wand once more, muttering an incantation under his breath and felt the familar contraints of the glamour settling over him again, changing the colour of his eyes back from red to blue and dulling the sharp points of his teeth. He released a slow breath and looked up at Mordecai again, who looked unimpressed.

"That took six seconds, and it was horribly obvious what you were doing. You need to practise that until you can throw one up wandlessly, wordlessly and with half a moment's notice. You'll need it. Also, once the glamour is up you need to learn to warp it completely under your control and without a mirror. You need to just know if the shade of your eyes is exactly right, if your teeth were always that sharp. The slightest thing being off-balance, that one detail you decided to forgo because you couldn't be bothered could be the thing that reveals you. Do you understand?"

Ron nodded, and began to make a mental list; he had to practise his glamours, look up vampires and laws and all that shit, uh... and probably redo that list of ways to gain access to a property. Right. It was like being in bloody school again.

Mordecai kept going. "Next on the list: how is your duelling?"

Ron shrugged. "I'm not bad. Took on some Death Eaters in the Ministry-"

He waved a hand dismissively through the air. "Low-level lackeys. Could you take on an Auror?"

Ron spluttered for a second in disbelief. "An _Auror_?"

"Yes, an Auror, that's who they'll send after you if you're discovered."

"Got a lot of experience with that, have you?" Ron muttered, shooting a dirty look at Mordecai.

He grimaced in a painful sort of smile. "Oh, Ron, did you forget so soon that I know which window belongs to your beloved sister? How easy it would be to get to her, too? She goes out on her broom and practises quidditch every day, sometimes flying out of the bounds of the wards. Out of the safety of your home, and closer to _me_ ," he hissed, eyes darkening.

Ron swallowed, a ringing filling his ears.

_Don't you touch her you deranged fuck don't even think about going near her I'll kill you I'll kill you I'll-_

But if he said any of that, Mordecai might just go and kill her now. Or worse.

Another satisfied but calm expression loomed over Mordecai's face. "Don't test me, Ron. Now, can we get back to duelling?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "I know about the Ministry, of course I do. And I have to admit that you aren't half bad, but wouldn't measure up to an Auror. You need to be able to. So, we are going to practise every night until you can do better than a shoddy protego and a few stunners. Any complaints?"

Ron didn't respond, beginning to feel that this conversation was very one-sided (and really, what could he do about it?) Because he knew a trap when he saw one.

Mordecai smiled, before saying softly, "Good. So you're starting to learn to keep your trap shut. But back to combat - you have quite a significant edge on your opponents. Not only are you a vampire, therefore faster and stronger than them, but you have magic too. 'Course that only applies if you're fighting a human, because if you're fighting a vampire then you're fucked. They can dodge spells faster, and if something knocks them down it won't be for long."

"But you're a fresh vampire. Barely a few days old - so, basically, you're weak as hell. The longer you stay a vampire and drink blood the stronger you get. That's why it's usually the oldest vampire who is the leader of a clan-"

"Clan? So- so they're real?"

"Yes. I'm guessing you only heard what the stupid Ministry has tried to guess. There are many vampire clans, each dangerous and powerful depending on who the members of the clan are. I don't think you're forbidden from joining one, but I wouldn't if I were you, considering you don't have any contacts to be able to get in easily."

Ron frowned, wondering which question to ask first. "Are you part of a clan?" He settled on.

"No. But I do have connections."

"And from what you said before about why vampires hate my family, does that mean all vampires are Dark, then?"

"Not necessarily. Most of us are Neutral, or Grey, such as myself but it really depends. Some vampires believe You-Know-Who winning the war would help us, and some people want to fight against him. But it's hard when nobody trusts you, and anyway, like I said most vampires just want to spend the rest of their existence away from it all. Like me - I couldn't care less which side I end up on."

Ron nodded. He would try and stay in the Light for as long as he could, as long as his condition permitted it. "I don't want to join a clan. I want to stay away from all of the other... vampires."

"Well, that simplifies things a lot. Good - there's no chance you can be killed by pissing off an older vampire."

"Um, question - how much stronger am I?" Ron said quizzicially.

Mordecai considered him for a moment before answering. "You saw how easily I pinned you down the other night. I think it's similar to a werewolf's, to be honest, but I've never really known any well enough, or not well enough, to test that out. You'll be able to see better, hear better, smell better, but not as well as a werewolf can. I think we're faster, though. It can vary from vampire to vampire, however - some are naturally stronger or weaker with their supernatural powers."

"I suppose I'll see, then, won't I?" said Ron weakly. "Are werewolves natural enemies, then?"

"Oh, no. But they tend to distrust us more for obvious reasons."

"Can they tell what we are, then?"

"Yeah. We reek of blood and general emptiness. They'd be able to know from a mile away, and likewise for us."

"Cool. So I have a built-in werewolf tracker."

"And so do they. So keep away from your friend Lupin."

Ron frowned. "You- you know about him?"

"Didn't we already establish that I know everything about you?"

"Oh. Right."

Mordecai exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his temple. "This is going to be a long night."

Ron stared bemusedly at a large rock on the floor. "This is confusing."

"You'll get the hang of it."

"What about animals? Can't they- apparently they can sense souls and.. stuff."

"Yes, animals can sense souls and stuff," said Mordecai with a mocking edge. "But they won't hate you, not like werewolves. They're just indifferent, aloof. To them there's nothing there but a corpse, if that makes sense. But some are nice - like your owl. I think he might just be oblivious, though."

"It doesn't, and... am I a corpse?"

"Er... yeah. My blood acts as a poison, so at some point when you slept through the day you died and were reborn. Have you noticed that you don't need to breathe, or that you don't have pulse?"

A roaring filled his ears, and Ron's insides went cold. He had really died that night? He pressed two fingers to his arm, and then his neck, scrambling around his veins for a pulse but could find nothing. However, his lungs were still drawing in air. "Why am I still breathing, then?"

Mordecai shrugged. "Habit. But if you went underwater you would never have to come up for air. Like I said, you're technically inferi, feasting on human blood to sustain your body and your brain. Your soul has moved on. You have no patronus, no animagus form, no reflection, no shadow, no scent, no heat, no heartbeat. You get it."

"No- no _patronus_?"

"Yeah, I know. It sucks. Try it, if you don't believe me."

Ron frowned at him, gaze shrouded in suspicion and raised his wand. "Expecto Patronum!" Nothing happened - not even a pale mist flowed through his wand. It was like there was no magic there. A gnawing sense of worry pulled at his stomach, so Ron tried another spell to see if he could actually still do magic. Picking up a leaf, he aimed his wand at it and muttered, "Engorgio." Thank fucking Merlin it magically grew to be almost the size of his hand, and a moment later Ron dropped it, watching it flutter to the ground.

"What am I going to do about Dementors?"

"You're in luck, because they don't give two shits about you. Your soul was the only appetising thing about you, so you're useless to them now. The Kiss has no effect on you. They can't even see you. But I would recommend keeping away from them, because Dementors can do more than just take your soul. Really nasty grip," he muttered, almost without realising reaching up a hand to touch his neck.

"So what do they do with the vampires in Azkaban?"

"There aren't any. All jewellery is removed, so without a ring or some kind of sun-blocking object they just burn to a crisp when the light comes in through the window. Or they're just executed before they even near the place. The Ministry has never been kind to us, so we just tend to self-govern."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

"If you annoy humans and the Ministry, no one cares. If you annoy another vampire, a clan could declare war on them. Then you're in trouble." Mordecai sighed. "Essentially, there is no government because vampires all keep to themselves too much. Don't care about governing another person's life."

Ron frowned, his face crinkling slightly. "Is me going to Hogwarts a crime?"

"Probably. But Dumbledore managed to convince them to let a werewolf go to school. It's just... extremely unheard of for someone to be bitten in their teen years, and if they are, werewolf or vampire or whatever regardless they tend to just disappear. They join a clan and try and find some sort of position there."

"So why can't I do that?"

Mordecai shot him a long look. "You'd want to leave your family?"

"If it kept them safe, then yes."

He snorted. "Don't be stupid. They're probably safer with you around. There are some perks to being a vampire, you know, and then after I train you you'll be able to keep the Death Eaters away. Anyway, you're not allowed to join a clan, so you have to stay here until you're told to leave."

Ron looked at him bemusedly. "What? So- so I have to go back to Hogwarts? Why?"

He sighed irritably. "Because you have to. I have a job to teach you how not to be a fuck-up of a vampire, train you up a bit and then take you away when the time is right."

"But why?"

"I'm just the messenger," said Mordecai quietly. "Someone needed an experienced vampire to do something for them, for a decent sum, so I said yes. I'd never even heard of you before taking up the task."

"So you don't even know who you're doing the job for?"

"Yeah, but I'm not going to tell you."

Ron's face crumpled, and he sighed dejectedly. "So, I'm fucked either way?"

Mordecai nodded, beaming. "Now you're getting it! Just do what I tell you, and your family and friends stay safe."

He couldn't hold back his tongue, finally releasing the venom that had been building up inside him all night. "Or what? You just keep threatening me with no real evidence to back up your claims. You say you're some scary vampire, working for even scarier people but where's the proof? I-"

Ron's voice was cut off by Mordecai's hands suddenly latching around his throat, fingers pressing in tightly and cutting off his circulation. If there was any left, that is.

After making an odd choking noise, Ron's hands began to frantically scrabble at the fingers tightened round his neck like stone, eyes widening as Mordecai ruthlessly kept on adding pressure until there was a small snapping sound. Ron saw stars, and heard the distant thump of his body hitting the forest floor before it all went black.

* * *

"Hello? Come on, I know you're awake..." a voice swirled around somewhere above his head, and Ron's eyes suddenly snapped open. "It's been two minutes already. I don't have time for fucking around, come on, wake up!" A rough pair of hands shoved him in the side, and his vision (which had been swimming and wavering oddly) finally sharpened, bringing a face into focus. A disgusted expression, fit with darkened eyes and a small grimace made Ron identify him as the stranger, Mordecai. Twat.

He frowned, swallowing to attempt to rid his throat of an odd closed-up feeling before pushing Mordecai's jabbing hands away and standing up. "What?" He slurred. "What'd you do?"

He sniffed. "Killed you. You needed to get it over with - don't be afraid of dying, kid - and you were annoying me."

Ron began to laugh. "Killed me? Explain how I'm still here, then-"

"You're a vampire, you imbecile. I snapped your neck but you can't die from that."

He blinked a few times, reality catching up to him painfully. He felt his throat, remembering the sensation of those hands, now shoved casually into his pockets, clamped strongly around his neck. The wrists twisted once, his neck following the same motion. A horrible snapping, crunching, grinding sound, an odd sensation of being weightless; and then it all went black. The indents of Mordecai's fingers would be pressed into his skin for forever more, like a pair of ghost hands were throttling him. His neck was still tingling, the skin feeling burnt and tarnished, and his throat was still very closed off.

He swallowed, clearing his throat raspily. "Tech-technically you didn't hurt me, s-since I can't be h...hurt." Ron was nothing if not stubborn, and probably stupid, just going by the expression on Mordecai's face.

His expression was twisted into a scowl. "I thought," he growled, "I made it _clear_ that you should bloody well _shut up_ -

"I _know_ , you snapped my bloody neck!" Ron hissed. "But since I'm-I'm you know, immortal or whatever it wouldn't matter-"

"Yes, but if I did that to your very _not_ immortal family, how would that go? You said 'I'm some scary vampire, and where's the proof?' I know where your father works; exactly when your brothers, the twins, lock up their shop and step outside for a few precious minutes; your brother Percy, when he has his weekly trip to a bookshop - very open one, too. I could just slip in and out, and nobody would be any the wiser - not until they found the body, of course."

"I have you, and your family completely cornered. Sure I may not be able to kill you, because of the terms of the job but they said nothing about your family. And, I can just keep snapping your neck over and over and over again if I want to, because that won't be enough to finish you off. Do you want that?"

Ron swallowed, and quietly seethed while his hands trembled; partially with anger, because how fucking _dare_ he say all that shit, but then... also with terror. Because he was completely right. Ron didn't even know when Fred and George locked up their shop. He had never even visited. Would he have a problem getting in there, too?

Mordecai raised an eyebrow. "Do you know how easy it is to break into the Ministry? How easy it would be to slip into that little poky office of your father's, and do what I did to you? How long until they discover the body? He's not exactly important there. Nobody would notice."

Mordecai's demeanour shifted, his hands drawing into his chest and eyes widening in earnest. "I-I swear, Sir, I'm just an in-intern, I have no idea how he d-died... He was alive when I delivered those papers - oh-oh God, his _family_ , what are they going to _do.._ " his nervous expression faltered, customary smirk taking its place again on his face. He smiled, teeth sharp like a shark that found it's next meal.

Ron's voice shook. "Don't- don't go _anywhere_ near my family-

Mordecai laughed loudly; more of a sneer than anything. "I hold all the cards here, Ron, don't kid yourself. You have no ground to stand on here."

"So what the hell do I do?" He whispered, voice raising in volume. "How am I supposed to keep my family safe?"

"You do exactly what I tell you."

"Exactly what the people telling you to tell me to do? Haven't you- haven't you wondered whether the people are... Death Eaters?"

"Death Eaters?" Mordecai looked affronted for a second. "I don't know, and I don't care. This war is little more than a blip in my entire existence. It doesn't affect me in the slightest. I don't pick sides - I just go for whoever offers the most cash."

"Well, I do. Vampire or not I am still on the Light side."

He scoffed. "Let's see how long that lasts."

"Isn't it a bit... selfish, though? Just standing by especially when you can do more than the average wizard? What is it you do anyway?"

"This, but I never usually stick around. I'm given a target, I learn their habits and then take care of them."

"And by take care of them you mean..."

"Y'know, Ron, some people reckon you're a bit thick, but in this moment-

"I get it. So you're some kind of... vampire hitman?"

Mordecai considered him for a moment. "Well, when you put it like that..."

"Excellent, so I'm learning from an assassin," said Ron, trying to keep the edge out of his tone, but Mordecai still looked unimpressed. "I-I mean, sorry, but it-"

"Yeah, that makes a lot more sense now, actually. They said they wanted me for my area of expertise. But... I don't want an apprentice," he said, ignoring Ron's small sounds of protest. "Well I suppose there's no going back now. I already took the cash."

Ron groaned inwardly. "I'm completely _fucked_ ," he muttered, more to himself than anything but Mordecai smirked.

"Let's get back to it, shall we?"

Ron saw no other option other than to agree, for the sake of himself and his family. And besides, some extra training wouldn't go amiss, especially considering what he had turned into. "Fine."

He nodded. "I see you've finally learnt to just fucking go along with it. About time."

"Not like I can do much about it."

"Correct - you can't choose your situations, but you can choose how you deal with it. Now, what to do first? You're not liable to attacks at the moment, blood intake is sorted for a few more days... it'll go up the more you get used to this, by the way, so in a few weeks just that bottle probably won't cut it."

Ron's eyes widened. He'd have to drink even _more_? Mordecai suddenly looked at him like he had grasped an idea. "What?"

"Right, I know it sounds stupid, but it's incredibly valuable. You need to learn how to control your facial expressions along with your temper. From what I understand yours is quite fiery."

"What's wrong with my temper?" said Ron hotly, before deflating quickly. "Oh. No, you have a point."

Mordecai nodded. "As time goes on you might notice your emotions dimming, which although it would get rid of your temper, it would make you almost inhuman. Just a side effect of realising nothing matters because you're immortal. Then people would ask why you're always so blank and empty compared to usual, and then they would be suspicious. You get it. There are bound to be some changes you can put down to growing up or some bullshit but you have to always be prepared. You have to notice everything from the people around you exchanging glances, because that _could_ mean suspicion."

"And suspicion is bad, right."

"In classes you have to stay calm when the topic of vampires comes up. Do you think you could write an essay on the best way to dispose of a vampire? Because that's what you'll have to do. Talk to your friends about how best to spot a vampire, how to poison one with aconite. You have to give only the facts put down in books or from a credible source because if you suddenly have a fountain of information about vampirism, people will _get suspicious._ So act dumb about vampires. Also, all of the duelling practise I'm giving you - you'll have to hide that, for obvious reasons."

"You have to be normal. Sleep, eat and live as you did before. It sounds easy, but pretending to be alive again is difficult when you're dead. You have to play quidditch exactly as you did before, with no supernatural talents. You have to be _normal_ \- so similar to the person you were before not even your best friends notice the difference. Can you do that?"

Ron was about to nod - but then he began to think. Would Harry and Hermione be able to tell something was up? Slowly, he shook his head, before saying lowly, "I don't think I can."

"But can you learn to?"

"...Yes. I think."

"When do your friends arrive?"

"A few days, maybe a week. They usually get here around this time of the summer, and Mum's been saying they'll arrive soon."

Mordecai swore under his breath. "That's not as much time as I'd like, but it'll have to do. You need to meet me here every night."

Ron bit his lip. "Not like I have much choice, is it?"

"Nope. And stop doing... nervous things. That's suspicious."

Ron frowned at him. "Nervous things?"

"Yeah, you're shaking. Stop it."

"I can't just stop it! I don't have control-"

"Yes, you _do_. You're dead. Completely lifeless. Now, stop bloody shaking before I force you, and let's get to the duelling."

"Duelling? How're you going to duel? You have no wand."

"Who says I need one?" A glint of malice shimmered in his eye, and Ron saw his wrist begin to flick before he suddenly ducked down. A hot flash of air darted just over his head, the slice of magic nearly singing the top of his head. He straightened up, staring wide-eyed at Mordecai.

"What?" He said. "Not going to fight back?"

Ron frowned, before pulling out his wand and beginning to throw out the best spells he could think of. A stunner, a jelly-legs curse... Mordecai dodged them all with ease with a bored look on his face.

"Come on!" He shouted. "Is that the best you can do?"

"You keep dodging them all!" Ron yelled back, barely scrambling out of the way as a hex sped past his right shoulder.

"Only because you're slow," retored Mordecai as Ron's barrage of spells started up again. "And was that a _sneezing_ charm? The fuck is that going to do?"

He barely felt himself breathing anymore as he tried his best to skim around the spells. Ron cursed as a slicing hex cut into his leg, surely going through his jeans and a few layers of skin. "Fuck!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, did that hurt you?" Simpered Mordecai, before releasing another hex that ripped through the side of his jumper.

Ron pressed a hand to his side, for a moment pain blinding him before settling to a steady sting. He grumbled, straightening his grip on his wand and next using a binding charm. "Relashio!"

This time, rather than the spell missing its intended mark by a mile, the snake-like coil of dark rope that shot out of his wand wound its way around Mordecai's torso, pinning his arms to his sides. He let himself be restrained for a second before struggling once, twice and on the third time his arms ripped free of the constraints.

He looked at Ron with something akin to surprise. "That wasn't terrible. You got anything else like that?"

Ron gritted his teeth and continued on, the gouge in his side no longer bothering him. Another binding charm which was dodged around swiftly, shield charm to block a particularly nasty skinning hex, pull that down to slide around and focus on getting out another offensive spell... it was a whirlwind of flying colours to him, courage spurring him on to gain the upper hand.

Harry was always known to be a great duellist, not Ron. But despite not being the best at what he did he still really bloody enjoyed it. The rush of adrenaline was enough to make him forget about recent events, namely his recent transformation and new dangers to his family.

He would feel selfish about it, but the reminder that Ron was doing this for them - bearing the occasional sting of a curse slipping through his shield that made it all worth it. He would put himself near this insufferable psychopath to keep them safe.

And it didn't really matter, did it? If Ron was already dead and couldn't be hurt, why not? This extra training ensured he could defend the people he loved most, even if they would never know it.

Secrets. Ron had never really bothered with them, but he had no choice now, and just imagining what they would all say if they knew... he was fine with keeping it all quiet. Maybe it would all work out. He had to just keep telling himself that, so he could keep throwing out spell after spell, keep fighting, keep going.

By the time morning rolled around, the sun stretching greedily across the ground and enveloping him in its warm light, Ron already knew two new spells and could cast a glamour within five seconds. It was slow work, and Ron knew it would be hard, but as he walked back to his home and slipped back into his room, he couldn't help but smile at the small success.

Reaching across the table to pour himself a cup of juice and make a small sandwich, talking rather subduedly with his mother, Ron wondered if maybe he wasn't as screwed as he had previously thought.

* * *

Okay - I'm sorry if the plot felt a little rushed, but I just want to get most of the points down and build on them slowly throughout the chapters. I hope the pacing was decent :/

Anyway, thank you so much for favouriting, following and reviewing! You guys' feedback really keeps me going. Anyway, thanks for reading, Tea33.


	4. Keep In Mind

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Four: Keep In Mind

"Ron? Ron? Hello, earth to Ron?" Someone was waving their hand in his face, causing him to blink a few times and snap his attention out of his thoughts. It was his sister, Ginny, a bemused look on her face with a critical gaze.

He swallowed. "What is it?" Could she have known? Could anything have tipped her off, maybe his glamour slipped-

"You were completely zoned out for like the third time in the past few minutes," Ginny said, voice shaded with suspicion and eyebrow raised. Ron almost sighed with relief - of course it wasn't about that. He shouldn't be so paranoid, jumping every time someone spoke to him. Fred and George would most certainly use it against him.

Forcing his voice out with a huff, Ron replied, "Then maybe you should stop interrupting me so I can daydream without you disturbing me every five seconds. And why are you so bothered? Not like we have much else to do," he finished with a shrug.

She looked taken aback for a moment. "Sorry. You've just been weird lately is all."

He almost glared, but at the mildly panicked look on Ginny's face he dialled it back a little, even cracking a small grin. "Just bored." But Ginny didn't look convinved. Shit, had he mucked this up? Mordecai had been grilling him constantly about the emotions stuff; how to say the right things so people wouldn't be suspicious, how to explain away any strange situations that occured. Things like that needed to be hidden skillfully, and Ron's emotional handling of things had never been fantastic, even less so now he was an immortal creature of darkness.

She snorted and shook her head. "You're always bloody weird, don't know why I bothered asking." Ginny scoffed at him once more before leaving her chair and walking out of the kitchen.

Trying to cover up the sting of her comment, Ron smiled in return, waiting for the moment when she left the view of the kitchen. He'd rather think in his room, where there was less chance of an interruption but he had already spent a few hours there already today. If he was going to increase the amount of time he spent there from the usual standard from before, he needed to do it gradually. Ron grimaced. Thinking this much about everything he did was going to give him a headache.

It was still strange not to call himself ordinary anymore. That was what he had been his whole life: a carbon copy of his brothers in looks and base of his personality; then, when he arrived at Hogwarts, a woefully normal student, excelling at... nothing really.

In classes he had always been around the middle ability-wise, that result varying slightly in different areas. Still, he hadn't been anything special exactly. And Ron was okay with that - he had long ago come to terms with that fact. Besides, it wasn't all bad. Not standing out meant he could go unnoticed and unbothered.

Perhaps that had changed after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, but it had changed far more when he had been pinned down and had the blood drained from him. Now, he was about as far as ordinary as you could get, but still had to pretend to be.

It had been... what, five days since he was turned? And he was already sick of lying to the people around him, of hiding his true feelings to try and mirror what he felt when he was alive. It would only get worse when he had to pretend around Harry and Hermione, the two people who knew him the best. Seamus, Dean, Neville. All of them had to be lied to protect his family and the people he cared about. But Ron would do it if it meant nobody else got hurt.

Realising his gaze was going slightly cross-eyed after gazing at the window too long, Ron tried to snap himself out of it by reaching up a hand to rub his eyes lightly, leaving his hand to rest on the side of his face. Merlin, this was going to be _hard_.

* * *

Just like the night before, Ron waited until the light flickering outside his door went out, signalling his parents had gone to bed before standing up and going to soundlessly open the door. He had opened it about halfway open before he had a realisation that gave him the urge to sigh.

The lights turning out did not mean they were asleep. And from here he could also make out the faint glimmer of light dancing underneath Ginny's door, meaning she was still awake. He had been stupid. What if they had heard him, saw him leave to go to that unmarked clearing? He wasn't being _careful_ enough. Had his reckless actions aroused any other suspicion too?

Without much prompt his thoughts were drawn the encounter that afternoon, where Ginny had said he had been 'acting weird'. Had he? Mordecai would be even more pissed if he had managed to give himself away so easily. He would have to be more careful - starting with being severely sure that everyone had gone to bed before sneaking out. Ron reclosed his door and sat back on the bed, resigning himself to yet more waiting.

It took another hour before he was satisfied he could go, and then Ron delayed himself another ten minutes because he still wasn't entirely sure. That and the fact he really, really didn't want to see Mordecai again. You couldn't blame him - last night the maniac had snapped his fucking neck! Granted, it didn't technically kill him, but what the _hell_ is wrong with that guy?

You can't just go around doing things like that to people! And the worse thing was that he really did do that, to people who he had been paid to kill. Although Mordecai being an assassin really didn't come as a surprise it still always shocked Ron how much of an emotionless bastard he was.

As he neared the clearing, Ron made the decision to lower his glamour. To wear one all day was constricting, like wearing a mask, but he'd have to get used to it. He would have to wear one all day, all night, all week, all month, all year for years. Anytime he wanted to be around normal people, and since at Hogwarts he would be sharing the dormitory with four other boys there was no time he could be alone, really, apart from when he was in the shower. He would have to hide his true self from _everyone_.

"Late," tutted a voice haughtily, and when Ron turned the corner he was unsurprised to find it belonged to Mordecai. Examining his fingernails as he lounged by the tree he was the epitome of bored, but Ron had to remind himself how menacing he was underneath.

Ron kept his expression flat. "I had to be sure my family were asleep."

He sniffed uninterestedly. "Tomorrow, make sure they do sooner. We don't have much time until your friends arrive, and then an even shorter timeframe before you go back to Hogwarts. I won't be able to meet you there."

Ron suppressed the urge to fall to his knees, thrust his arms out and thank whatever presence made it impossible for Mordecai to follow him to school. Just a few more weeks he would have to put up with this psychopath, and then he would be free - or free in a sense, at least. There would still be this damned curse to bow down to.

He smirked. "I'll still send frequent letters, though, so don't get your hopes up too much."

Ron frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "How could you tell... that? Can you- can you read minds?"

"No, your eyes glazed over and you started to grin like an idiot," remarked Mordecai with a tight grimace. "I thought I made you understand you needed to practise controlling your emotions."

"You persuaded me just- just fine, I just... need a little more time to get to grips with it," said Ron, trying to mask the nervous edge in his tone, but from Mordecai's unimpressed expression he had failed. At least he wouldn't have to see him for much longer, Ron reminded himself. The letters wouldn't be pleasant, but threats on pen and paper were less likely to frighten him.

"And to address your question about the mind-reading; yes, I can. I assume you've heard of Legilimency?"

"Yeah, and then Occlumency's the opposite, where you protect your mind from intruders rather than being the intruder yourself."

He looked mildly surprised. "Well, it seems you're not as stupid as I previously thought. I found I had a talent for it after I was turned."

Ron's eyes widened. "Hang on - so can I read minds, now that I'm a-a- you know what?"

Mordecai rolled his eyes shrewdly. "You're a vampire, you may as well bloody say it," he said dryly. "And yeah. Sort of. You'll be able to see into people's minds, but without practise you'll muck things up and won't be able to find what you want discreetly and directly. You don't know Occlumency either, so digging through someone's mind isn't ideal."

"So do I need to learn then?"

He nodded curtly. "I've been dreading this bit. Teaching _you_ Occlumency," he screwed up his face in disgust, "A stupid teenager... eurgh. But, the money was good. I would have started sooner but there are no Legilimens in your family or someone you're likely to come into contact with. Plus, who'd check your mind? You're Ron Weasley. I do have to admit the people who wanted you turned did pick rather a good target."

Ron swallowed down the piercing anger and terrible dismal feeling that came along with the realisation he was merely a pawn in a game he didn't understand, a lonely soldier in a war run by people more powerful than him and kept staring on. Mordecai would repay him poorly if he made a fuss over his careless statements. On the outside he was (if a little rough around the edges) collected, but on the inside burning hot rage coursed through his insides.

Even Ron was a little impressed he managed to keep it in this time, too busy attempting to contain his temper he didn't notice that Mordecai had paused to assess him, concluding he was satisfied before continuing. "But I can teach you. Quickly. It'll be uncomfortable, and wear you out, but you don't get tired so we can practise all night, lucky for you," Mordecai said quietly, leering at him slightly.

Ron gulped.

* * *

A flash of him, three years old, running around after his brothers and playing tag; Ron at thirteen, sat behind a wall of stony rocks and waiting with an out-of-his-mind Lockhart down in the Chamber; Malfoy leading a symphony of Slytherins as they all sung 'Weasley is our King' and he hovered there, sick with defeat in mid-air; last year, Christmas, sat in Grimmauld Place and tucking into dinner. A rush of memories stormed him, overwhelming and bamboozling his senses.

Finally, the onslaught paused, and Ron was left panting and restless as he tried to piece his torn memories back together. "Could- could you be more careful?" he asked, wincing.

Mordecai grimaced, clutching at his head slightly with one grubby hand. "This isn't any fun for me, either, but no. There's no time to teach you properly, I'm just here to give you a crash course. That is what it feels like for someone to break into your mind; you need to learn how to sense it, and force them out."

"Force them out?" he said weakly. "How the bloody hell am I supposed to do _that_?"

Mordecai shook his head, shaking out locks of coal black hair so encrusted in grime Ron couldn't be sure whether they were really just dark brown and nodded. "Get up. We need to go again."

Ron, who had barely noticed he had fallen to the floor, scrambled up and steadied himself. He did have a headache, but found that the pain was quickly dissipating. "Al-alright."

And so, they went again. The pain of having someone dig through your mind, rustling private memories and thoughts Ron himself had forgotten was excruciating at times. Ron could now appreciate how Harry had been feeling all last year when Snape was doing this to him; and Harry didn't have super healing magicky stuff to rid him of the accompanying headaches. How he had managed to do his OWLs with all of that stuff going on Ron didn't know.

This time last week he had been asleep, dreaming about... Merlin knows what, but the point was, he had been completely normal. Very average. But now, well... he hadn't slept since that night (and day, actually) after he was bitten. But he didn't feel tired in the slightest - and anyway, his nights were taken up by meeting a murderous psychopath in a patch of trees, so he didn't have time to.

Mordecai faced him with a gaze embedded with daggers, which stabbed into his brain as it was once more invaded. He felt him rootling through shelves and files and books; impatiently tugging out memories and observing them for a moment before reaching for the next set.

He mostly stuck to docile shots of eating meals with his friends, or studying, and didn't venture much elsewhere. He did show particular attention to the battle last year, however, and the difficulties they faced reaching the Philosopher's Stone or the mystery that accompanied finding the Chamber of Secrets.

Ron gasped, the sensation of resurfacing from a pool of cold water rushing through his system as Mordecai extricated himself from his thoughts. He glanced at him agitatedly, unable to keep the question in. "Why'd you keep looking at all _that_ stuff?"

"By _that_ stuff you mean the events that were only rumoured at by almost the entire population? The papers didn't have a clue - they just said Dumbledore refused to disclose any information. To protect the students, apparently. I had the chance to see what really went on, and I took it." Mordecai snickered. "Besides, it was pretty entertaining to watch."

Ron grimaced. "It's not like I can stop you though, I suppose," he muttered darkly.

"I can still hear you when you murmur," said Mordecai bluntly. "And yes, you can. That's the point of the exercise. If you only want me to watch Quidditch and lessons, force me to."

" _How_ though? What am I supposed to do?" Ron protested.

"You already have a natural ability acquired through your species, so just... I don't know, harness it, or something? When I was learning I tried to visualise my mind like a... a library, I think I used, so imagined someone opening the books - my memories. And then, I forced them out. Put the book back on the shelf and kicked them out the library. But you can use whatever setting you like."

Ron frowned, and began to think. What could he use? A library too? He wasn't sure; libraries had never been his favourite place, just because they were a bit confusing... all the books and titles you had to sort through. Maybe he'd give it a shot.

"Ready to go again?"

"No."

Mordecai brushed his comment aside with an impatient wave of his hand. "You'll have to just manage then." A second blew by where they just stared at each other, before Mordecai felt his mind splintered and transported elsewhere. He dug through the boy's mind, sorting through the usual collections and bubbles scattered around the brain of someone with no prior training in mind arts... until he wasn't, tugged away by some unseen force. Mordecai suddenly felt ground under his feet, air brushing past his face, tousling his hair.

When he drew in a breath, he could smell grass. Earthy and moist and rich; it clung to his senses like glue and forced his eyes to open and observe his surroundings. He raised an eyebrow, almost snickering at the sheer predictibility of what Ron Weasley's mind palace looked like. It was, of course, a Quidditch pitch.

Towering stands cast dark shadows across the dew-ridden stretch of dull green, a lazy sun winking at him in the distance and throwing its own glimmers of light to contrast with the shadows. Mordecai sniffed once more, inhaling that fresh scent of nature that flooded his own childhood and taking him back. But where was the owner of this place? He could feel it from the way his feet hardly brushed the ground that he was nothing more than a visitor here.

And, judging by the furious stare thrown across the pitch, an unwelcome one. Ron Weasley stood at the opposite end, broom in hand and dressed in a garish red and reflective gold Keeper's kit.

He hadn't been able to resist it. Being on the Hogwart's Quidditch Pitch again, feet away from the gigantic hoops he guarded each match felt too familiar not to be standing in his robes by them. Judging by Mordecai's expression though, he thought it was quite stupid. Oh well - at least when he could feel the familiar dents in the handle of his broom by his side, smiling at the vapid early morning weather he could pretend that everything was still normal.

Mordecai sighed slowly and turned his attention back to finding the memories. Where were they? Where had he hidden them? So preoccupied with combing the vast amount of seats in all the stands, wondering whether they were sorted underneath each row (and damn, that would be _infuriating_ ), Mordecai completely forgot to look down, only realising the lot was dumped at his feet when he took a step forwards and almost fell. It wasn't fair: memory palaces diminished his balance, Mordecai thought grumpily as he straightened himself after a near stumble.

Across the field Ron groaned. He went to all this trouble to conjure himself a nice, big, spacious place to conceal things and all of his memories ended up deposited right at the intruder's feet in the form of Muggle photographs. Shit.

Suddenly, both were dumped out of Ron's mind, the dampened, humid air replacing that of the cool quidditch pitch. Ron grumbled as the pain in his head came back with even more vengeance; turning his world upside down before the pain dimmed.

Mordecai released a slow breath. "Well, that was better. You actually tried this time."

"I try every time," Ron grumbled. "Just this time something actually happened."

"You got that right." Mordecai snickered. "That Keeper kit was ridiculous, though." Ron frowned darkly, and Mordecai snorted even louder. "Alright, let's go again."

He was too surprised to remember to scowl. "What? _Again_?"

"You don't get tired, so I don't see why not," said Mordecai shortly.

It was true - Ron felt almost exactly as he did when he left his room. "But can't I have a break? We've been at this for hours!"

"Only two," countered Mordecai. "And you don't need breaks. Not anymore. By the way, what made you think of a quidditch pitch?"

Ron looked blank for a moment before he realised what he was talking about. "Oh, um, I don't like libraries."

Mordecai snorted. "That figures."

"I'm- I don't hate them, persay, I just prefer quidditch. I get it more."

"I will say you did that bit well. Quidditch pitch was... decent. But you completely fucked up with the 'hiding your memories' part, which was the entire point of it."

"I noticed. Just got a bit caught up in the design." He shrugged.

Mordecai considered him for a minute. "Alright," he said.

"Alright what? Alright you'll let me and my family go?

Mordecai rolled his eyes. "Oh Ron, don't joke around, you know what happens when you do-" (he added in an menacing glare to ensure he was suitably reminded) "I meant, alright, let's do something else. Duelling?"

Ron laughed. "No."

"You got Occlumency or duelling: which is it?"

He grimaced. Either was just as bad when you had a teacher like _Mordecai_.

* * *

The following morning, Ron limped back home, wincing as his ankle slipped on a large mound of earth. Vampirism did have its limits, one of them being it took more than a few minutes to heal a foot that had first had its bones crushed, multiplied, then vanished when Ron was screaming in agony. If tonight had taught him one thing it was that Mordecai most definitely had no soul.

Did he _really_ have to go so far, though? The point of that exercise was to show him how lethal non-verbal spells were, and teach him how to throw up a wordless protego. Ron couldn't just not speak, and kept accidentally murmuring the incantation under his breath and so Mordecai had grown impatient and decided to clamp it shut instead using magic.

It did... teach him, but the learning process was horribly painful, if faster than doing it with more considerate methods. At least he could do a little non-verbal casting now. Next was wandless, and Ron just hoped Mordecai didn't decide to chop his arm off to ensure he wasn't using a wand.

Ron had also learnt how he could be killed.

Removing the large splinters slicing his hand almost in half, Ron yelped at the amount of blood gushing from the wounds. "You're going to kill me!" He had cried almost hysterically. "Wha- there's-there's too much b-blood, I can't _deal_ with this-"

"Be thankful it's not human blood," Mordecai had chided. "And shut up, you can't die from some harmless splinters. Now, let's go again."

"Harmless?! There's a three-foot-long piece of wood stuck in my hand! I'n not going again!"

" _So pull it out_ ," Mordecai hissed. "And stop complaining. Do you think your real enemies will give you a time-out? A minute to catch your breath?"

"No, but could you just give me- give me a second," Ron pleaded.

"No. Get up."

"I _can't._ "

Mordecai grimaced. "Well, I suppose it's been four hours. But if you're not training you have to be doing something. We have absolutely no time to take this slow, otherwise I'd use better methods than these."

Ron nodded. "I'll do that. Just... tell me stuff. About vampires or whatever."

Mordecai began to pace back and forth, flexing his hand and sending a few sparks leftover from the duel cascading to the floor. They oozed a violet hue that stood out amongst the simmering brown of crumpled leaves. "How about death?"

Ron blinked at him confusedly. "Sorry, what?"

"Ways to kill you."

"Go ahead, it's not like I can stop you," Ron muttered gloomily.

Mordecai glared at him. "Be quiet or I'll go back to duelling," Ron flattened under his gaze, and went back to trying to dislodge the leftover chunks of oak in his palm.

"There are three ways you can die. Killing curse, sunlight, and fire, like I mentioned yesterday."

"Fire? But aren't I.. erm, indestructible?"

"It's like sunlight, isn't it? You can heal from fire, obviously, but if you're all... burnt up, there's no coming back from it. The killing curse immobilises you and leaves your mind intact, but it's basically death. No coming back from that."

Ron nodded dismally, gritting his teeth as another chip slid from underneath his skin and brang out more droplets of blood. However that soon healed up on its own, so by the time he was finished his hand looked entirely unblemished. he turned back to Mordecai. "What about garlic?"

"Hm? Oh, myth," he replied quickly.

"And the stake through the heart?"

He frowned at him. "You're dead all over: why should stabbing a certain organ kill you?"

Ron sighed. "Well, that makes things easier..."

Mordecai sniggered. "Nothing about this is easy - not while you're still learning it all. But you'll come to appreciate it all one day. The healing, the speed. Some people would kill for that."

Ron blinked. "But we're at war, against dark forces with dark creatures. This is probably the worst time this could have happened."

"And that's why it did," said Mordecai, a knowing look in his eye. "Oh, I see your hand is healed. Let's go _again_."

Ron swallowed, and was hardly on his feet again when the shower of spells begun. It was frustrating, because the more progress he made the more Mordecai ramped it up another notch. Ron realised how the older vampire had been holding back, and shuddered to think how far his skills reached.

Even worse, as the days passed, Ron knew it would soon be time before he would have to... eat. Not the various things he choked down at mealtimes to appease his parents and family, drawing them further into the subterfuge, but actual vampire food. Blood. How could he say it without sounding weird? Ron shrugged, hardly noticing his ankle was now good as new. There was no way to make this situation not weird. The sun was barely above the clouds; the first ones in days. It was going to rain soon.

He frowned, and as he trudged back to the house thought of the instructions Mordecai had given him. He had to practise during the day, too: anything he could do to help speed along the process. Duelling would be too obvious in the house, but Occlumency and improving his mind palace (or mind Quidditch pitch, really) so that tonight Mordecai wouldn't be able to violate his privacy.

At least progress was fast with mind arts, due to Ron's new knack for them as a vampire. The word felt weird to say even in his head, and left a sour aftertaste on his tongue even when he didn't use his voice. And, he never wanted to. If all of this insanity could live inside his head and in his head only, it might seem that little bit less bad.

Ron knew it was silly - but he felt this close to snapping with all the pressure on him, so would do whatever it took to get through this. He needed to get through the training, say goodbye to his family, and- and- and pretend everything was alright. Because it could be, if he pretended hard enough.

What to do after Hogwarts never even crossed his mind. Could he still be an Auror, like he had been wanting to for a few years? Was that still... possible? Or would the people who wanted him turned into a vampire call him back before then? Ron felt like he was on borrowed time, and wanted to make the most of everything before they forced him to do... whatever it is they turned him for.

Thinking about joining the Order of Phoenix only caused him a headache, wondering what kind of tests they did to let people in, whether he could get in on name alone and having known everyone else there for years.

Ron shut the door behind him, and collapsed onto his bed, just in time for his mother's footsteps to near his door and re-open it.

"Morning, Ron," she said pleasantly, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Breakfast in ten, alright?"

Ron nodded, and feigned a yawn. "Sure Mum. Be down in a few." She gave him another concerned smile before disappearing, the door clicking shut again. He turned and sighed.

He still hated lying to her, even when he knew it was for the best. It felt like there was a snake in his stomach that reared its head whenever someone came to threaten the secret, or even a warm look from his family members could rile it up. They gazed upon him like he was still the same person, not a blood-sucking monster. He wouldn't- no, couldn't, be the one to shatter that image they had of him.

He sighed, and sat up, beginning to get ready for the day.

* * *

Ron glared at the cereal in front of him, and the cereal glared back. It was some weird grainy mix that he had always disliked, even before he was turned, but it was better than bread which always caught in his throat and clumped together like he was chewing on a mattress. Disgusting. He swallowed, pulling his eyes away and to the window. Even worse: the thirst was coming back. It was that same dry, sore feeling, like his throat had been scubbed at with sandpaper. It wasn't so bad now but it could get so much worse.

All that Ron needed to survive was blood. The rest (sleep, food, drink) were just extras, some pleasant, some unpleasant. Sleeping brought dreams and Ron didn't want them, water only reminded him of the thirst he would never truly be able to quench, and food was just a bloody inconvenience. He didn't sweat anymore, since his temperature never changed, and he had no heartbeat and soul.

He could hear things far away, for instance the clock ticking in the other room and the thrum of his familys' heartbeats. It was like a constant pulsating that got on his nerves unless he pushed it to the back of his mind and forgot about it.

And it was so hard to, when he knew the thing that could help his dehydration was sat just feet away from him. Ginny sipped at a glass juice, oblivious to Ron's frustrations. He had begun to notice more and more that _that_ was what consumed his thoughts: when he could next eat.

Mordecai had said in a night or two, so it wouldn't be long, but Ron was struggling to wait. His own impatience to commit an immoral act _disgusted_ him, and he used that revulsion and the sure disgust everyone else around him would feel to push those thoughts away. It worked, most of the time.

Shaking his head, Ron turned back to his meal and pushed a spoonful of the cereal up to his mouth, swallowing it down and feeling it scrape against the back of his throat, clogging up somewhere along the way and needing a sip of water to dislodge. How on earth he managed to find pleasure in eating before when it was such a bloody chore he didn't know.

* * *

Thank you all for the reviews! I'm sorry if the weaknesses and strengths of vampires haven't all been revealed yet, mostly due to the part I'm still ironing out a few creases in the pros and cons (because oh my God, there's a _lot_ ) but thank you for weighing in on the matter in the reviews. I'm also trying to add them in all gradually so it's less jarring than Mordecai just pulling out a chart of pros and cons. I really appreciate all of you following my story; it means a lot.

-Tea33.


	5. Changing Enemies

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Five: Changing Enemies

(Warning: graphic content ahead. Yes, more than usual.)

Ron hadn't been doing much when he arrived. Lying on his bed, contemplating his existence, building up the walls of his mind Quidditch pitch (as you do) when there was a shout from downstairs. Ron ignored it and tugged the pillow tighter around his ears, trying to block out that as well as the annoying birds that had decided to roost a few floors above him, but something caught his attention, a shard of noise that lodged itself firmly in his brain.

"-here."

He ditched the pillow and bounded over to the landing.

"What?"

His mother turned and shook her head at him. "Oh, so now you decide to come out, after I've called you _six_ times-"

"Mum, you're like three floors away, how could I have heard you from all the way up here?"

She shot him a fierce glare, but didn't say anything. That was when he should've realised something was up, really, but he was still puzzling over who had arrived. Hermione? Harry? But who came into view almost made his brain short-circuit.

"Ronald!" Cried a blonde woman emphatically in a voice laced with sweetness. "Eet is so good to see you!"

With a jolt he realised who was standing in his hallway. Fleur Delacour. Fleur Delacour was standing in his hallway. Something wasn't adding up here. He frowned at her, noting her hair was a little longer than the last time he saw her and just as blinding as in fourth year. "Fleur? What're you doing here?"

Over her shoulder, his mother shot him a strained smile. "Look who your brother brought home, dear, his fiancee, apparently-" Ron noticed the shiny ring sat on her left hand, which was now rather hard to miss since Fleur was waving her hand around a lot, "-with absolutely no warning to his poor family!"

Bill came to stand beside her, looping an arm around her waist and smiling sheepishly. Ron could still feel himself frowning deeply, and noticed everyone was waiting for his reaction. "Oh, er, right. Very nice. When's the wedding?"

Fleur beamed, showing off her pearly white teeth. "We were sinking next summer, yes, Bill?"

Still grinning ruggedly, he nodded. Ron looked between the pair bemusedly, noting how Ginny was scowling at Fleur rather pointedly. She exchanged a look with him, a sort of, 'can you _believe_ this?' and Ron raised his eyebrows to agree with her. This was certainly unexpected.

Fleur beamed again, throwing her arms around Mrs Weasley and making her squawk in surprise, unsure of what to do but gingerly patting her slender back. For good measure it seemed she leaned back to peck her cheek enthusiastically, finally pulling away to a flustered Mrs Weasley. She turned back to Bill. "Can you show me around, lover?"

He linked hands with her, grin widenening even further as they walked round into the kitchen, Bill sending a pleased nod round at his family behind her back. Ginny sped up the stairs to Ron, muttering, "Come with me," as she passed him to her another confused look down at the hall (where his mother was still reeling with shock) Ron didn't waste another moment and followed his sister into her room, where she was waiting for him. After shutting the door she began almost immediately.

"I don't know _what_ Bill was thinking, if he even is in his right mind- you know what, she is a veela, maybe she bewitched him, tricked him into marrying her..." Ginny continued muttering to herself, Ron staring at her slightly concerned. She turned on him, frowning at his unbothered expression. "What? Don't you agree?"

He paused. "Yeah... well this was certainly unexpected, but- Bill's never been one for conventional. But Fleur Delacour... Harry and Hermione are gonna lose their shit when they get here," Ron said, grinning slightly. "How did they even meet?"

Ginny glanced at at him sharply. "Not sure. Let's go and ask. They've had long enough to 'observe zee 'ouse' as Phlegm would say." She brightened considerably at the nickname. "Oh, that's not half bad!" Ron nodded, and followed behind her as she began to go back downstairs again. Shouts rang through the air, growing even louder the closer to the bottom floor they got, and Ron sped up a little.

-"You could've at least warned me ahead of time, Bill! This- are you sure? Really, is this what you want?"

"Mum, I know what I want. Fleur is just right for me, I can feel it-"

She sighed exasperatedly. "But she's... she's..."

"She's what, Mum?" There was a dangerous glint in his brother's eye, warning her not to go any further. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, still frowning heavily and faced his mother again. "Right. Well, Fleur's gone to to get her things, and sort out some things at the hotel. She'll be back in about half an hour."

Molly's face screwed up in despair. "You can't just expect me to let her stay here with absolutely no forewarning, this is ridiculous-"

"No, Mum, what's ridiculous is you refusing to accept her. What's so bad about Fleur? And you knew I was coming; she won't need an extra room, she can stay with me-" (at which Mrs Weasley groaned) "-so I don't see what the problem is! There's certainly enough room, and if it's the paying for the extra food that's the problem I can give you some-"

"That's not the problem!" She burst. "I just knew something like this would happen, with your hair and your _earring._ You were bound to attract the wrong kind of girl, and a veela too, you have no idea who she could be seeing on the side-"

Bill snapped at that. "Mum," he said, suddenly quiet. "If you won't let her stay here too, I'm leaving. We're a package; you can't just have me and not her. I thought it would be good for her to spend some time here in preparation for the wedding. I thought you'd accept her, that you wouldn't be unkind to her just because of her heritage. Because she has a different background to us. I thought you didn't care about that." Now Bill looked quite hurt, and Molly's eyebrows rose.

Molly considered him for a moment, eyes narrowed before she sighed. "Well, I suppose..." Ron thought back to conversations he'd overheard about his mother despairing about having the family altogether again. She'd accept a daughter-in-law if her son would stay. "Alright, Bill. But," and she leaned in closer, "If she's compelling you, or- or she's done something you tell me right away, okay?"

He pulled back. "She's not," he almost spat. "I love her. And she loves me."

Mrs Weasley tried not to wince. "But couldn't you have warned me? I really could've done with the notice ahead of time."

Bill's scowl vanished at that, but he still eyed her warily. "I'm sorry about that. I wanted it to be a surprise, and besides, you know how rubbish the post is." His tone softened as she began to smile slightly.

His mother suddenly gasped and wrapped him into a tight hug. "Oh Bill," she said fondly. "I'm- I'm sorry about what I said before, but it's just hard to adjust... my little boy, all grown up," she rubbed his cheek fondly. "But marriage is a tough thing, something I don't think you should just rush into... oh, if you'd only asked me."

"I knew you'd react like this," said Bill solemnly. "And what you said about Fleur - I'm not happy. But can you just get along?"

She nodded slowly. "I'll- I'll put up with her." She turned round to see Ginny and Ron in the doorway, eyes glistening slightly, and walked over to them, pulling them into a hug too despite their protests. "Oh, you two," she remarked, voice choked up a little. She broke apart from them, Bill also joining them.

He grinned at Ron and Ginny, the latter of which had a sour expression on her face. "Well, what do you think?"

He blinked, deciding to speak before Ginny could get out any insults. "Um, bit unexpected, but uh.." Ron clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Glad you found someone." Out of the corner of his eye he caught Ginny nodding along mutely. Just as well - if she started talking she'd be even worse than his mother.

Bill looked impressed. "See, Mum, Ron has no problems."

"Yes, well, Ron would never keep something so big from me, would you dear?" she said, in a slightly chiding tone and giving him a reassuring nod.

Ron swallowed. That hit quite close to home, considering he was hiding the fact he was a blood-hungry monster pretending to still be human still. He shrugged; in all honesty, the Fleur-and-Bill-dating thing didn't bother him, considering he had bigger things on his mind. It was just another person to lie to, really. He hoped veela (or part veela) couldn't sense vampires like werewolves could, because that could be problematic. Ron was still undecided on what he should do if Remus came to visit. But since she didn't freak out and scream that there was a vampire in a house the moment she laid eyes on him, he thought it might be safe. He was still going to ask Mordecai about it though.

Oh Merlin, he wouldn't be pleased about an extra guest. Ron just hoped he didn't take it out on him.

* * *

"So, there's a problem."

Mordecai turned around, and looked at him suspiciously. He frowned. "What is it?"

"My brother, Bill, he-"

"I know, but you should be able to fool him too."

Ron paused for a minute, licking his lips and regretting saying anything despite not having let the words out of his mind yet. "And he brought someone with him."

"That blonde girl? The pretty one?" Ron nodded, and Mordecai's grimace deepened. "She'll be even easier to fool since she doesn't know you, so I don't see what the problem is-"

"She's a veela."

His expression cleared instantly, expression just visible in the moonlight. "Veela? I'm guessing only part, since she didn't look like a giant bird. Oh, Merlin- has she said anything yet? Were you discovered?"

"Why? Can veela tell too?"

"Yes. Most magical creatures can."

Ron swallowed, closing his hands into fists to try and stop the trembling. Oh, fuck, fuck, this wasn't good, did she already know? Oh, _fuck_.

Mordecai sighed. "Well, you'll have to come with me then."

"But she hasn't said anything!"

"But she _could_." Mordecai shifted closer, expression earnest. "You really can't take any chances with stuff like this."

Ron summoned up any courage he had left, and began to try and argue his case. "But- but I can't go, this is my home! Can't I just stay here and be careful, just avoid her? She saw me this afternoon, spoke to me, hugged me, and she had no idea."

"You don't know what she could be hiding. Perhaps it's all an act. Maybe she's constructed a team of vampire slayers to come and attack you when you're not expecting it."

"I don't think so." Ron shook his head. "If Fleur figured something out she'd out me right away, and if she wanted to kill me I doubt she would wait. She could. She was a Triwizard Champion-"

"I thought I knew her from somewhere," Mordecai muttered. "But that just proves my point even more! She's dangerous, clever and a veela. You need to _leave_."

"What would I say to my family?" Ron spluttered. Mordecai's words had burrowed into his head and were now nesting there, making him doubt his decision to stay. Was this going to turn out to be a terrible mistake?

"That you needed a break from everything. You're a teenager in a war; they'd probably believe it."

"And when term starts?"

"Walk back in like you never left," he replied bluntly. "Your family and friends would have questions, but they wouldn't suspect you were a vampire running from your veela sister-in-law. Almost anything else would be more believable."

"I'm not going."

"Yes, you are. I'll force you."

"But she doesn't _suspect_ anything!"

"But she could! I don't see how she missed it, really, unless she's- oh. What part is she veela?"

"What?"

Mordecai frowned slightly. "Is she only a- an eighth veela, is that it? Why she can't sense you? The less concentrated the blood gets the harder it is to spot other creatures since the ability comes with the bloodline."

Ron shook his head. "I don't know-"

"How strong was her allure?"

"I really don't know, she didn't use it."

Mordecai rubbed his chin distractedly. "You could be immune to it, too. Many vampires are, some wizards too, but there are exceptions. Like I said before with how speed can vary, so can your resistance to magical prowess."

Ron paused for a minute, processing the information. "Are you?"

"Mostly. I can get caught up in it when I don't actively try and separate my desires from logic, but I don't meet enough veela to test it. They hate vampires."

"Obviously," Ron remarked. "We literally eat people."

He snickered. "You joke now but you'll have to do it tonight."

Ron's jaw dropped. "You're kidding, right? I have to- do that _now_?"

He nodded solemnly. "We can't take any chances with veela around. I was going to take you right now, actually."

"I can't go now!"

"You have no choice."

"But I can't! I won't go, and you can't make me!" Ron was starting to panic, alarm prickling through his dry throat and clouding his head. But he swallowed it all down and kept it on the inside. Mordecai would only drag him away there and then if he showed weakness, showed that he couldn't do this.

He would have to leave his family one day, possibly forever. When the mysterious employer of Mordecai decided he wanted his trained pet back, Ron would be called away into the shadows and dragged into Merlin knows what. His time was limited, essestially. And he wasn't about to let this bastard shorten it even more. Ron wasn't ready to say goodbye - not yet, at least.

"I won't go," he echoed quietly. Mordecai's frown hardened as Ron's jaw did, a clear sign of defiance.

He growled. "This could go horribly wrong, you realise."

"So you'll allow me to stay?"

"Only if you use everything you've taught. And besides, this will be good practice for Hogwarts." Ron nodded, and bit his lip slightly. Just thinking about trying to go to Hogwarts as _this_ made him want to keel over and faint.

"How well does Fleur know you?"

"Not well at all. In the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, I was part of it with Gabrielle, her sister. I was there when she was rescued, and, erm, helped a bit and she was grateful. I didn't have a clue she was coming; Bill only brought her here today as a surprise since they're engaged."

"That's good, then. She hardly knows you, and you need to keep it that way. Even if she's not full veela or one talented at spotting magical creatures, you need to stay away from her. You can't get close to people."

Ron almost snorted. "I can do that easily."

"What, not a fan?"

"No. She's pretty, there's no denying that, but quite... overbearing." Dinner that night at the Burrow had been quiet indeed. His dad had been similarly surprised at Bill's choice of bride, but wasn't as bothered as his mother, who had watched her through narrowed eyes the entire meal. Although she had cooled since the earlier confrontation, she still almost had a fit when she saw Bill and Fleur both going to his old room. Ron had just been thankful her attention was on that rather than nagging him to eat more, as she was still concerned he looked a little haggard and had been hounding him to eat more for days. He was probably just filling in for Harry.

Mordecai sniffed. "Shame, she was pretty. Well, anyway, onto the main event of tonight. Grab my arm."

"Why?" said Ron cautiously.

"Because you need to for Side-Along Apparition."

Ron had plenty more questions to ask, but grabbed Mordecai's proffered arm anyway to avoid angering him. "And where exactly are we going?"

"Away."

"And why?"

"Because hunting around here would be like putting a big sign advertising that there were vampires in Ottery-St-Catchpole, which would be bad, because..." He waited for Ron's answer.

"Then I would be murdered," replied Ron placidly. "By the Ministry."

"And who else would get the blame for this incident?"

He grumbled. "You would," _And rightly so_ , he added in his mind.

Mordecai smiled bracingly. "Correct. Now, on the count of three: one-"

And then he left, completely unexpectedly so Ron caught the worst of the effects of Side-Along Apparition, because as vampire hitman supervising an almost clueless sixteen-year-old kid this was the most fun he could get. They both spun on the spot and ended up in a place very foresty. Like the clumps of leafy vegetation surrounding the Burrow, but much darker, and much more unforgiving. The moon had vanished beneath a concealed sky, the trees looming above and giving the whole place a violet hue.

It was natural for him to be afraid (at least in Ron's mind). "Where... where are we?"

Mordecai snorted. "Calm down, you're the scariest thing in here. It's a secluded forest somewhere in the Midlands, no clue where, but I came here on a job once and remembered it was quite popular for Muggle hikers. Good for us, but not so much for them," Mordecai added.

"But there won't be anyone here at night," Ron pointed out, and Mordecai shook his head.

"Don't be so sure," he said, nodding his head to indicate two women trekking through the forest, brushing aside brambles and branches that obstructed their path. He began striding over to them at once, not bothering to muffle his footsteps. He stopped short of them by a few feet. "Hello."

One of them, a short blonde with a few freckles, paused and tugged on her friend's sleeve. The other turned, still chuckling from some joke long forgotten by the other. "Del, what is it?"

She glanced warily from 'Del' to Mordecai. "Um, hello."

He leered at them, smile wide on his face. "Awfully late for you two to be out alone, hm?"

The other one sniggered, dark hair swinging in a ponytail that finished at the nape of her neck. "We can defend ourselves, thanks very much." She reached into her pocket to pull out a small penknife, and flicked it, unleashing a small silver blade that shimmered in the gloom. She didn't miss how Mordecai eyed it oddly. "What, scared?" she taunted, waving it nearer.

The other girl sighed and tugged her arm back. "Don't, Jean. Let's just get back to the car, alright?"

Mordecai snatched out an arm to take the knife off Jean, so quickly she almost didn't notice until her fingers closed around empty air. "Nice little trinket, this," he remarked, running a finger over it and watching as small beads of blood began to spill from his finger. "S'not very useful now though, is it?"

Both girls gulped, the nature of their situation beginning to dawn on them. The blonde one turned and sprinted off into the forest, leaving the other frozen with shock in front of a stranger with strangely sharp teeth and glistening red eyes. The scream had barely left her lips before Mordecai had waved his hand and she collapsed. He turned round to face Ron.

"You got your wand?" He nodded, scrambling to pull it out of his pocket and hold it up. Mordecai glanced at it once and then back at Ron. "Well don't bother showing me - go after that girl and stun her, then bring her back."

Ron stood still for a moment, shock overriding his haste to do whatever Mordecai asked lest he face the consequences. The man's expression quickly turned stormy, and he snapped, "Get going! Do you want her to get away?"

Swallowing down his doubts, he quickly set off in the direction that the blonde had begun run. In almost no time at all he found her, out of breath and stumbling over protruding logs and other roots, swearing and trying her best to keep going. Ron crept up behind her, hands trembling in their lax grip on his wand, wondering what he should do. Should he just run? Take her hand, and pull her to the nearest place they could get help, and go home.

But it was the thought of what Mordecai would do to him and his family if he refused orders that made him hold out his weapon, pointing out her back and whispering, "I'm sorry," too quietly, the hushed frequency of his voice in the cold forest too muffled for her to hear before a beam of red light shot out his wand and knocked her out cold. Next, he picked her up, grabbing onto her elbows and trying to drag her gently back to where Mordecai would no doubt be waiting. Resent for himself and what he was doing coiled deep in his stomach and refused to leave.

After a final heave over a particularly lumpy section of earth, he was there. Mordecai lifted his fingers from the other girl's neck he was bent over. "So, you kidnapped someone. Well done."

Ron let her arms fall, drawing back up to his full height shakily, before saying faintly, "I just... kidnapped someone."

Mordecai nodded affirmatively. "Sure did, kiddo, now let's get some blood off them."

Ron took a step back. "H-how?"

Holding up the small knife in his hand paired with a mischievous grin, he rolled up the girls sleeve. "Like this," he said, before proceeding to make a small incision in her arm. "This is the best method, in my opinion. You cut them deep enough to get however much blood you want, heal it up, and then wipe their memories after."

Ron considered Mordecai's words for a moment before shaking his head. "That's still wrong."

He made an indecisive noise in the back of his throat before dropping the blade and reaching into his pocket for a bottle. "Maybe, but it could be a lot worse. You've heard of the vampires that went on killing sprees, and ended up killing around twenty or thirty Muggles?"

"No."

He pressed the bottle up against the cut on the girl's arm, letting the crimson trickle into the glass neck and down into the belly of the the container, too consumed by his task to do anything more than wave a hand dismissively in his direction. "Well, probably a cover-up by the Ministry, then. They do that a lot, especially when they kill innocents. The Ministry will sacrifice everything to keep up their reputation."

Ron chose not to ask anything more on that topic, although he was quite curious to know what he meant his claim. "But it's still immoral to literally knock someone out and take their blood."

"But I didn't take anything more," Mordecai muttered, watching as the volume inside the bottle grew. "Some vampires choose to do other things to unconscious Muggles. Wizards too."

Ron knew that one. He remembered when his mother had told him to come to her if he ever thought he had lost time, or his memories had been altered. You could never know what had been done to you with memory erasing charms; it was scary to think about sometimes. Mordecai suddenly stood up, the bottle now full. Ron moved forward, lifting an arm slightly, at which Mordecai sniggered. "This isn't for you. Get your own," he replied tersely, before throwing back the blood and draining the lot, smiling after he had finished. "'Course, there are quicker ways to do this, but you can't heal our bites. It's the venom I reckon. Now, if you want any, the knife's there and here's a bottle," he said, throwing one at him and gesturing at the stunned blonde behind him.

Ron exhaled slowly, bracing himself for what he was about to do- what he had to do. The thirst was almost unbearable, what with all the fresh blood around and Ron had noticed that when he was hungrier the less inclined he was to choke down human food. He would need to do this more often to try and function normally. But bloody hell, it would've been easier to do this if he hadn't always scarfed down his food like a dog. That way there wouldn't be such pressure to eat with his usual vigour.

"Alright Ron, you can do this," he murmured to himself quietly, (ignoring Mordecai's sarcastic call of, "Yeah, you go Ron!" behind him) and moving closer to the girl. Just as Mordecai had, he slid the sharp edge of the blade against the girl's skin, cringing as the flesh tore and droplets of blood began to leak out at an alarming rate. The flood just kept building, the tide of scarlet almost too much to bear.

"You should probably stop that," came a voice from directly behind him, making him slip and cut the girl even more. There was now a thoroughly worrying gash stripped across her arm, disfiguring the stretch of skin and warping it from the sheer amount of blood leaking out. Mordeca walked round and took the knife and bottle from Ron's shaking hands calmly, collecting her blood like he did the other girl's. Ron was ashamed to say he sat there numb, unable to tear his eyes away from the widening cut in her arm and the distant thud heartbeat growing shallower and shallower. Too wide - she was losing a lot of blood, Ron realised suddenly. It was still gushing from her arm quickly. Much, much too quickly. He had gone too deep. Why was this all happening so fast?

"Drink," the bottle was gently pressed into his shaking hands, slipping over it in his surprise and haste to choke it down. Just like last time, warmth spread throughout his body, finally refreshing his dry throat and giving him back some of the ability to think. When he was finished, he let the bottle fall to the ground and quickly snatched his wand up from the forest floor where he had dropped it.

Alright - now he _really n_ eeded to do something, because this girl... whilst he had been consumed by drinking what was so alluring to him she had slipped even further. Her heart couldn't keep up with all of the blood leaving through her arm, and he knew what would happen if her heart gave up.

Frantically he began to run through all the spells he knew, casting one after the other at her arm and hoping that at least one would bloody work, and using his hands he pressed down onto the wound to try and cut off the blood flow. "C'mon, c'mon, why- I should've- sooner-" but the blood kept flowing, kept oozing through his blood-stained fingertips no matter how hard he tried to piece the skin back together. "Why- it's not- Mordecai, help!" he cried out in distress, still absent-mindedly throwing out any charms he knew that might help. A threading charm, used to pull two pieces of material (even skin) back together only pulled the skin a little tighter, soon stretched to breaking point by the typhoon of blood.

He swallowed, relishing in the alluring taste and smell of the blood filtering through his nose and mouth before feeling sickened. This- this girl had- oh Merlin, where was her pulse? There was so much blood, and so little time, and all Mordecai was doing was standing by blankly. What could he _do_? The git would probably only try and hoover the remanants of the blood off her arm, so what could _he_ do? There was no Hermione around to offer a helpful little spell, it was just him alone in the forest with a dying girl, and it was all his fault.

Fucking hell, he wasn't giving up this quickly. Ron froze the blood around her arm, making small icicles form. It probably wouldn't help but it might at least stop the bloodflow. She wasn't _breathing_. He tipped her chin up, noting her pale blue lips and ghostly pallor, and began to press down on her chest. CCR, wasn't it called? The thing Muggles did when they stopped breathing? His mother had known a handy spell that could do it for you, or something to that effect, but he couldn't remember so this was the best he could do. He couldn't bloody _remember_. A single dry sob, more out of hopelessness than anything escaped his lips and made him slump down beside her body, forgoing any further efforts to revive her. He- he would try again, when he could remember that spell. It wasn't too late yet, not yet. He just needed to pull his act together and stop being so fucking _useless_.

It was one bloody spell to remember, one that might have saved this girl's life, but sitting there scraping his fingers across his palms in- in- he didn't know what, but it helped to soothe the restlessness inside. No! He shouldn't be doing nothing, he should start up those chest compressions again, maybe he had been doing it right... but looking back over at the girl who was on death's door it was enough to make him stumble over to the nearest tree and empty the contents of his stomach.

It was everywhere - on his hands, on his clothes - blood taunted his somehow still thirsty throat, sticking to his nose and mouth and clogging it up so it was almost impossible to think of anything else. Ron walked back over to the girl and dropped to his knees, pulling her arm up to his eyes and waving a hand to remove the freezing charm. From there- well, I suppose you could imagine what happened. A thirsty vampire left next to a girl with gory, bloody injuries; in only a few minutes there was no doubt she was dead.

Ron felt something inside of him shatter.

* * *

Mordecai had to swallow and turn away. This had not been what he signed up for: watching a kid go from desperately trying to revive someone to draining their veins dry, any essence of control gone was too much. Maybe the money hadn't been worth it in this case.

He had killed people before, sure, but it was always quick and clean and easy. A snap of the neck, a stab in the heart; they all did the job in a few minutes, sometimes less. Sometimes it was instant. But the moment Ron had cut too deep, too fast into her arm he knew it was over. Her pulse grew weaker and weaker until it finally stopped, the breath in her lungs extinguishing and dying.

Maybe he'd have been able to do something, if the right potions had been on hand, if he hadn't been utterly bewitched by the sight of the blood. But he hadn't been able to resist; not back then and not now. Plus, it had been a lesson. This entire trip had been a test, a mark to judge how much Ron had been able to pick up in the short time he had known him.

He had told him not to let his hands shake, because cutting precisely when you were under the allure of the blood and controlling the anxiety not to cut to deep and accidentally kill your victim was essential, and Ron had failed to keep calm, to rein back the emotion when it mattered. And Mordecai wasn't great at holding back his temptation either.

And the sooner he got rid of that Gryffindorish, moral complex of his the better. He couldn't try and be a 'good' vampire. They didn't exist. It hadn't been fun breaking the boy's spirit, (all right, perhaps a little) but it would benefit him in the long run. He needed to forget his family and friends like they never existed, so he could start again and move on, keep living. That was one thing he wished someone had done for him.

Mordecai realised something - out of all the insane, evil, psychotic, meticulous, sloppy jobs he'd taken, this was one he would never do again. There was just something so destroying about this job that made him want to leave the Burrow and never return. But... he had a job to do, and besides, he couldn't in good conscience leave the kid to deal with all of this on own. He had to try and give him _something._

* * *

Did not see the chapter going like this, but I did put a warning at the start. I almost completely forgot that Fleur stayed at the Burrow during the summer before sixth year, and since I'm trying to keep this as canon compliant as I can I added it in. It was fun imagining the family's reaction to Bill and Fleur. I don't own anything, all rights to J.K. Rowling. Thank you for reading, reviewing, favouriting and following.

Do you have questions? Good. If you didn't I'd be concerned with the quality of this chapter. Well, they'll all be answered in the next chapter, so don't worry.

-Tea33.

*Okay, I wanted to add on from something a reviewer (thank you AzureAlquimista!) said:

The logic I'm going to try and employ is that although Ron is dead, the curse of vampirism is what's keeping him alive. So instead of his heart pumping blood through his veins, it's the magic that keeps him still mobile and gives him all the extra powers as well as healing him and replenishing the blood in his body when he is injured. And, since the killing curse snuffs out all life that would include the magic keeping him alive. I know that yes, technically he is already dead but I just wanted to try and keep in line with the whole 'nobody has ever survived the killing curse' thing.

I know, two words shouldn't hold that much power, but it's also the intent behind it that counts.


	6. Mixed Messages

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Six: Mixed Messages

Numb didn't even begin to describe how he felt. Walking home, back over the hill to the Burrow, Ron really did feel dead. Like his insides had fallen out in that dark forest and were sitting in a heap beside the girl's body. Mordecai said he would take care of it - a note, explaining that she was leaving to go and live with her boyfriend across country, and to leave her alone. He had reached into her friend's mind to retrieve any information he needed to create an alibi (where she lived, family, if she actually did have a boyfriend) and found any necessary information before wiping the other girl accompanying her's mind of the night's events.

"It should all go over smoothly," said Mordecai, grunting as he shifted away from her body and flexed his arms. A quick incendio later and all that was left was a putrid smell and a pile of ashes. Scatter those around the forest and all traces of the girl would be lost forever. Nobody would miss her; her step-father and mother had kicked her out of the house months ago and neglected to call, and apart from that one friend she didn't really have anyone else.

Although it made Mordecai happy, it only made Ron feel worse. She was so young, and he had killed her, just like that. He hated himself for thinking it, but watching someone die wasn't at all what he thought it would be like. He couldn't remember much of Sirius' death, thanks to that nasty tentacled brain, but... he didn't expect it to be so fast. One minute he could hear her pulse, see her chest rising if it was a little shallow, and the next it all just... stopped. Everything just held still for a moment, watching, waiting for the girl to take her last breath. The breeze in the trees, the animals scurrying about in the distance. It all just froze, stopping to watch her chest settle and move no more.

And then it was all over. The world started again, continued living, but the girl didn't. Just like when he was bitten it felt like someone had cut through his life, slamming down boundaries of 'before' and 'after'. Before, he was normal. Before, he couldn't possibly imagine killing someone. After, he lost control so badly he drained every last drop of blood from the girl's veins until she was a pale, blue corpse, blonde hair peppered with flakes of crimson that splashed up from the gaping wound on her arm. He had been an animal last night - far from the boy he had once been. This put yet another great divide between him and everyone else.

He was no better than _them_. The Death Eaters. They were the ones that killed without mercy, without thought. Thank Merlin his soul was gone, because by now it would have been so torn and unrecognisable someone would have noticed Ron was wrong. Everything about him was wrong now, but he was just talented at hiding it.

He had stared at his hands fearfully, blood streaked up his palms and dried around his wrists and arms. He could feel it on his face too, and if he looked down he would see his clothes stained with deep red. He shook terribly, his teeth chattering uncontrollably and body shaking without rhythm. For once Mordecai didn't look so smug.

"Oh," he had said, looking down at what was left after Ron finished, putting the entire situation so simply that Ron despised him for it. "Well, this is a problem."

Ron shuddered, turning away from the sight of the girl crumpled next to him on the dirt-ridden forest floor, unable to take it any longer. Mordecai crouched down, arranged her crumpled limbs in a more human-like fashion with the arms and legs straight again and brushed her hair from her face carefully. "We'll have to cremate the body. It's almost impossible to track the ashes once they've been scattered." And he said nothing more, apart from the occasional comment about what to do if he ever got into the situation again. Ron vowed that he wouldn't - he didn't care how many people Mordecai had killed, since he obviously knew what to do in this situation, but he wouldn't be like Mordecai. He didn't set out with the intent of killing someone: it just... happened.

It was his fault for cutting too deep, then for losing control. It must've been like watching a trainwreck, Ron though distantly. One thing went wrong and then the whole plan collapsed, faster than he could've thought possible. It was what got him the most about all of this - it was all just so _fast_. First he was turned, then he killed someone. What was next, swapping sides and going to work for Voldemort?

He didn't want to kill her, hadn't wanted to even after he had. It just... happened. No matter how hard he pressed down the blood kept coming, an overwhelming flood that never, ever stopped. And then her heart stopped, and Ron just broke. It was all his fault. He had killed her. He was a murderer. He had wanted her blood, and he got it, in the end. He shouldn't complain, not when it had all been so stupidly preventable.

He tried to resent Mordecai for it. He really did. A slight glare, an empty, hollow expression; it had been directed at the idiot with no repurcussions. Mordecai just went on with things: fetching memories and erasing them, sprinkling ashes across fields, apparating Ron back to the Burrow with legitimate warning this time. He had been quiet, and the unease tugging at Ron's stomach couldn't bear to see him so coolly collected.

"How do you do it?" His words were sharp, piercing; much harsher than they had been intended. But Ron didn't care anymore. The voice telling him to keep quiet around the older vampire had all but vanished, now claiming he wouldn't mind the question. That was why he was here, after all, to learn - and he needed to ask questions.

Mordecai took a step back and found Ron, iron-backed and with a plain expression. His eyes were wide, calculated and un-glamoured, a fact that was obvious from their deep, unearthly red. He thought for a moment. "You have to separate it all."

"All what?"

"The emotions."

Ron laughed shortly, the sound colder than the late summer breeze around them. "How?"

"In your mind, you need to separate them. Use your barriers to shield the emotions; lock them up tight in a box and don't let them out." He narrowed his eyes, beginning to frown, out of contemplation more than malice. "That was why you failed tonight. Your hands shook when you needed to be precise and discreet."

"You're saying it's my fault?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying." For a moment, Mordecai hated that he had to do this, hated himself for doing this, but then he reminded himself to take his own advice. He needed to sort his feelings, brush them off the counter and into a sealed box. Put them at the back of his mind library, so to speak. He began again. "It's your fault."

Ron's expression broke, the casual straight line of his mouth shattering and giving way to a mournful wince. The shield came away from his eyes and he winced, something within the depths of them broken, swollen by blood red pigment. That was all Mordecai saw before he turned away, only giving a broken sob and bringing a shuddering hand to clench his forehead. "It's- no, it's not my fault-"

"Yes, it is Ron," said Mordecai mercilessly, rounding on him. "Accept it! You killed her, you sucked the life out of her-"

"NO I DIDN'T! STOP LYING!"

He laughed, smirking at the broken boy and relishing in his torment. "Deny it all you want, but I know it's only a front. Deep down you _know_ it was your fault. It was your fault. All your fault." The words tasted sweet like honey on his tongue, all languid and fluid. "Say it. It's your fault."

Ron's face twisted into a terrifying snarl, but that soon gave way to that familiar defeated look. "I can't," he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. Mordecai shouldn't have been able to hear it, but that was another mark of how wrong they both were. Ron and Mordecai could hear the inaudible, see the unthinkable, do the terrible work that no decent person would ever think of doing. That was why he took care of the people in society he was paid to. _Someone_ had to, to satisfy the darkest desires of the human psyche.

"SAY IT!" He roared, anger trickling out the box and leaking into the organised sector. "SAY IT RON, YOU KNOW IT'S YOUR FAULT, IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" Still the boy said nothing. "Say it, Ron," he snarled. "Be a good boy and say the right words to keep your mummy and daddy safe."

Ron jerked at that, turning quickly and horror staining his widened eyes. "Don't- you- please, they never did anything. I never did anything! Why are you doing this to me? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?" He couldn't stop now, the shouts ringing out into the air. "WHY ME? WHAT DID I EVER DO TO DESERVE- THIS? I'VE- I'VE ALWAYS DONE THE RIGHT THING!"

"But why should that save you?" Mordecai simpered. "Bad things happen to good people, or didn't you know that?"

He looked eerily terrifying, stood in the moonlight, expression torn and clothes drenched in the dead girl's blood. "I-I know," he said, voice small and tight. "But it's just not _fair_ -"

"Stop moaning, stop making excuses," said Mordecai bluntly. "Whose fault is it that she's dead?"

Ron swallowed, trembles beginning to wrack through his body, but he stopped them. It was the shaking and inability to hide how his emotions affected him that killed someone. "Mine."

The sound was empty, minus the usual vigour that accompanied most of what the kid said, and Mordecai blinked. He loosened the grip on his feelings, glare hardening in understanding as he looked into Ron's eyes. "Good."

That night, they duelled, and pratised more Occlumency. But both were silent, emotions locked away for good. Mordecai had made it clear how important that particular skill was, and keeping up a frosty facade in front of a maniac threatening to kill him if he did otherwise seemed like a good time to practise. Besides, it wasn't too bad, Ron thought, staring ahead woodenly as he dodged spell after spell. His reflexes were faster, he noticed, and without pathetic human reactions and responses there was little to slow him down tonight. The thirst that had been taunting him for days was gone, but it made Ron sick to think about why exactly it was gone.

That was the key - don't think. Don't speak, don't do anything that betrays your inner thoughts. Surviving and learning around Mordecai was easier when you were a merciless soldier, only obeying orders and reacting accordingly. It gave him an oddly empty feeling, but he found he didn't mind it so much when it masked the terrible guilt he felt for what he had done, the blood forever staining his hands no matter how many scourgifies he cast or rinses under water.

The sun rose, and his glamour clamped down again. The opaque red eyes turned into clear blue ones, his smile became human again and he was just Ron Weasley. Nothing special about him. There was no ulterior motive to suspect, no question that he was an ordinary teenage boy. The plain sidekick to Harry Potter alongside that clever Granger girl. For once, he loved that role, wished he truly had it again.

Mordecai stopped him before he went back up to the Burrow. "Wait, Ron, you can't go back like that."

"Like what?"

"You can't keep it in around your family. Maybe a little, but that's not like you at all."

"Right."

Mordecai frowned. "Try scowling a bit when you say it."

Ron scowled, but not from Mordecai's instructions. "Merlin, I know what I'm supposed to do. Act normal and everything. I'm not a complete idiot."

He grimaced and turned away. "Right, well then... be off with you. Meet back here tonight, you get the rest."

"Mordecai?"

"What?" He snapped.

"The girl... I'm- I'm sorry for killing- um, her."

"Don't apologise to me. And it's all done now, there's nothing you can do. I took care of everything, so there's nothing to worry about."

Ron nodded, and turned to go back to the Burrow but the weight of the guilt in his stomach was still just as heavy and overbearing as ever, like nausea that never went away.

* * *

"Ron, what the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

He jumped, sending his empty glass flying but managed to catch it and set it down on the table again. He turned, fixing a slight grin on his face mingled with annoyance. "Blimey Gin, did you have to sneak up on me?"

She shook her head. "Stop it. What's wrong with you?"

"I don't follow."

"You skipped breakfast, then lunch, which in all of the years of knowing you you have never done," (Ron tried not to be offended; it was true, after all) "and then you just sit in here all day, and do nothing. I've been watching you for the past ten minutes and you didn't even bloody move!"

He stood up, looking at her incredulously. "So you're mad because I sat still?"

"Yes! There is something going on, and I will get to the bottom of it," she almost spat rather vehemently, flipping her long hair as she left. Ron shook his head and sat back down, frowning at the family clock on the wall in front of him.

There was a problem - quite a big one, actually, and he didn't know how to fix it. He had been sitting here pondering how the hell he could get himself out of this situation for- well, at least ten minutes, according to Ginny.

The hand with his face on had fallen off. It pinged at him when he walked past rather viciously, which Ron had theorised was because he was dead but still up on his feet. If he had learnt one thing growing up around magical objects, it was that they _hated_ being wrong - and if he had no soul, that meant he was supposed to be dead. But quite clearly he wasn't and the clock was quite annoyed about it. Perhaps it thought it was broken, and along with being wrong magical objects also hated being broken or damaged, because then they would have to be thrown out.

So, the clock couldn't find Ron's soul, and the hand dropped off. The thing is, he wasn't gone. Someone was going to notice.

He didn't want to go to Mordecai, not after what he did to him last night. He had stood by and done nothing when he could have at least tried to keep her alive. Ron knew that it was his fault she died, but... he couldn't help wondering if that was exactly what Mordecai wanted. To teach him a lesson. To test him. It probably was, knowing the bastard and he had let someone die just so he could play his stupid games.

It had all just happened so fast... there wasn't time to think, collect his thoughts especially with all that blood around. Oh, damn it, curse this stupid curse! Ron marched up to the clock, readying his wand and placing the clock hand over the allocated mark. Next he employed the very best sticking spells he could muster, hissing all the while at the idiotic clock.

"I am _not_ dead," he protested quietly, glaring fiercely at the ancient thing. " _You_ have got your facts wrong, all right? You are the wrong one, not me, I'm not the broken one- OUCH!" He yelled, the hand with his face on pinging back again and smacking him right between the eyes. He grumbled and cursed as he massaged his forehead until the pain dissipated, and tried again. "Come _on_ , just go back on already-"

"Ron love, what's wrong?" Came the fretful voice of his mother, and she gasped as soon as she saw what had happened. Molly bustled over at once, shifting her son out of the way and gaping at the clock. "Did- what did you do?"

Looking into the wide and questioning eyes of his mother, Ron blanched. "I- uh, it- it broke," he said, because... that's all there really was to say. She had caught him holding the dismembered hand so it wasn't like he could just start denying it.

She quickly snatched the hand from his and ruffled his hair, moving him out of the way so she could peer closely at the clock. "It must have... fallen off," she said. "The clock's been in the family for years; it was going to break at some point." She frowned at the clockface thoughtfully, watching the shapes in the reflection dance as Ginny began to move closer.

"What did you do?" Asked Ginny, her tone beginning to sound wary and eyes sketching him up and down. Ron blinked and saw the girl last night around her age, eyes unblinking and vacant and limbs stiff.

"I don't know. It just fell off when I walked past."

His mother planted two hands on her hips, a usual gesture the Weasley children had estimated she did around eight times a day. "Are you sure you didn't do anything? You didn't curse it because you were bored?"

Ron shrugged. "Why would I do that? Ginny's around."

She narrowed her eyes and raised a finger warningly. "Don't you antagonise your sister, not when you broke my clock-"

"I said I didn't break it-"

"Then who did?" Apparently, any mention of the clock being old had been forgotten, and Ron was now going to have to take the blame. Molly sighed exasperatedly and set the clock hand down beside the clock on the mantlepiece, at the same time brushing off a little of the dust left across it. She tutted at the small cloud of dust that flew up. She gave Ron another reproachful look (which he returned with a slightly sheepish one) and striding out of the room, Ginny shooting a glare at him and leaving along with her mother.

Well, that was that. The clock now only had six hands instead of the alloted seven. And really, Ron deserved this: to have his name taken away from everyone else's, to be kept far away. That bloody clock was right to deny him, especially now he had _killed_ someone. Fuck being a vampire - he had murdered someone.

And he was still torn about whose fault it was and who was responsible for that girl's death. He knew it had been him who cut her arm so badly she bled out, but perhaps if Mordecai had stepped in... things could have gone differently. Ron imagined it for a moment - the girl returning home, going about her life with no troubling memories to trouble her. But that dream was quickly shunned by his own very real memories of the previous night.

It had all been too loud, too vivid to be a dream. And Ron knew it wasn't a dream - he hadn't dared to even sleep since this whole thing began. Harry had gotten horrible dreams all last year from seeing Cedric killed in the graveyard, so Merlin knows how it would be if he had been the one doing the murdering. He knew that he at least deserved terrible nightmares for taking another life (something that was only emphasised in the Order of the Phoenix) so he shouldn't complain.

Ron had no _right_ to be afraid that whenever he would close his eyes he would see the girl lying cold in the leaves again. None whatsoever. Mordecai had stood back for one reason, and that was to teach him to fend for himself, to depend solely on his own wits so that when he fucked up, he would have nobody else to blame it on. Nobody to blame for his own weaknesses. Either way Ron still felt at least part of the blame, perhaps all of it lay with him.

But what Mordecai made him say this morning had been worse. A thousand times worse. It felt like all night someone had been chipping away at his heart, and that had been the final blow that severed it entirely. He was feeling more empty than usual - whether it was from topping up his life support (the blood, but Ron liked to call it something different since it _was_ the only thing keeping him alive) or from killing someone he didn't know. He also didn't know whether he preferred it to having his emotions around.

He kept his thoughts stowed away now, because it was easier to try and function that way. However a certain drawback to that was that Ron was a hollow shell of himself - something his sister had noticed far too quickly.

Ron spared another glance for the clock, swallowed down the lump that arose in his throat and went to find a quieter spot to think about things.

* * *

"Ronald, can you pass ze salt, s'il vous plait?"

Assuming that meant please, Ron took his time swallowing down the food he had been chewing in his mouth, placed his fork down by his plate and passed the salt over almost lazily, ignoring the pointed glare coming from his brother. Fleur scoffed slightly and raised her eyebrow, snatching the shaker from his hand early and fixing him with a stare embedded with thinly-layered frost.

Ron smiled on vapidly, catching Ginny from the corner of his eye snickering into her glass of water. He seemed to catch a lot of things from the corner of his eye nowadays - a supposed perk of being what he was. He wondered if he had worn glasses beforehand that his vision would correct itself. Ron brushed away the thought; he had always been rather good at that even before this whole vampire thing.

Fleur quickly excused herself to go to the bathroom, and that was when Bill struck. His frown, before just a hardly noticeable grimace turned into a full on snarl, his nostrils beginning to quiver like they always did when he got angry.

"What the hell was that, Ron? And Ginny, I saw you laughing."

Smirking at his sister's sudden guffaw, Ron flickered his gaze over to his brother. "What do you mean? I passed the salt, didn't I?"

He snorted. "Took your bloody time about it."

"Now, now, Bill, it's a lot to adjust to in such a short amount of time - Ron is allowed to process things however he feels comfortable." Oh, so now she was on his side? Ron didn't spare a glance for his mother and only let his smirk widen.

"Calm down Bill, it's just salt for Merlin's sake."

The firelight flickered, only lighting his brother's eyes up even more. Ron was sure he would've been absolutely screeched at if Fleur didn't return at that very moment and say, "Is everything all right?" She turned her head, scanning all other members of the Weasley family. Ron shook his head, laughing quietly, and went back to stabbing at his food with a slight temper.

He heard a chair scrape back, and felt someone standing close to his own chair. Ron dropped his fork again and turned to face his brother. "What?"

"Can I speak to you, please?"

Well, oops, maybe Ron had pissed him off a little too much. He pushed his plate back (ignoring the stare of his mother) and stood up to reach almost the same height as Bill, staring him down evenly. "Sure."

Tugging on his arm none too gently, Bill dragged him into the hall and into the nearest room, shutting the door behind him sharply and turning to face him. " _What_ is your problem?"

Ron crossed his arms, and shrugged. "What?"

"You and Ginny - can't you be nice to Fleur?"

Ron couldn't help the grin breaking out across his face. "You're really quite sensitive about that, aren't you?"

He glared fiercely, eyes boring into Ron's. "Yes, because she's my fiancee and I want you to all get along."

"I just don't _get_ it, you know?" said Ron. "Fleur Delacour? How'd you even meet?"

"She came to Gringotts to improve her English." Bill said through gritted teeth. "We met, started dating, you get the rest-"

"But _why_? What's so special about her - she's bloody annoying."

He looked hurt then. "Is- is that how you really feel?"

Ron leaned in closer, watching the injured look in Bill's eye grow more and more. "Yes. And everyone else feels the same, you know it. So why don't you just dump her already and move on?"

"You absolute fucking _twat_ ," Bill spat, and Ron blinked. "Can you not show her some human decency?"

The words were there, dancing on his tongue, but whether he dared so say them or not was up to him. Well, Ron dared. "Why? She's not even _human_."

That was the last straw. Bill shook his head, disgust marring his features, and backed out of the room, turning on his heel when he got to the door and storming into the kitchen, eyes narrowed and clearly livid. "Come on, Fleur, we're leaving."

She rose from her seat, clear blue eyes as cool as crystals and lined with concern. "Why? What's wrong?"

"I've had enough."

Molly also rose from her chair. "Of what, Bill dear? Just sit down, we can talk this out over dessert-"

"NO! I'VE HAD ENOUGH!" The shout was wild and uncontrolled, and Bill looked quite mad with his face so red, the tips of his ears tinged with red. His chest heaved. "Fleur, we're going. I know you said you didn't mind everyone treating you badly, but I can't take it-"

"Don't I get a say in this? And they haven't even been too bad, really-"

"Only when you're not around," said Bill quietly. "What Ron said-" his head snapped round to face a thoroughly unbothered looking Ron, lounging in the doorway and a satisfied smirk on his face "- I won't even repeat to save you the embarrassment. But I don't want to stay here if you lot are just going to be horrible-"

His mother rushed forward. "Oh come on, love, we can all sort this out, I'm sure what he said wasn't that _bad_ -"

He pulled away from her grasp, glaring at her too. "You haven't exactly been a saint Mum, I do remember what you said the night we first came here. And Dad, you haven't really done anything much, but that's the point."

Arthur held a hand up, eyes creased and frowning behind his spectacles. "Bill, you know that this is a difficult time for everyone. We just need... some time to adjust. Don't go son, please. We'll talk to your siblings," he offered, very much taking up the role of peace-keeper, as per usual. Bill narrowed his eyes and frowned in consideration.

Fleur begun to wring her hands. "Might I say something?"

Molly blinked in suprised although she had rather forgotten that someone else was there. "Of- of course."

"If I am too much trouble, zen I can always leave and stay at zee nearby village. I don't want to cause any arguments, especially now with- with- everything else going on," she finished stiltedly.

Ron froze in surprise. This wasn't like Fleur at all - she was sharp and unapologetic, not nervous and staring at the ground as though she wished it would open up and swallow her whole. The weight of guilt shifted slightly in his stomach, and he found his jaw clenching; did she really care _that much_? Ron thought that maybe if he insulted her enough, behind her back and to her face that she would get fed up and leave, angrily storming out the house and taking Bill with her.

That way, there would be two less people he had to worry about hiding his secret from. He knew it was stupid since Hogwarts would be packed with hundreds of students, but not many of them knew him well enough to spot when he was off. To figure out what was wrong with him. Well, there was no going back now - he had said what he said. And now he had to deal with the aftermath.

Of course he didn't care that she was a veela; he was a bloody vampire, for Merlin's sake. He now counted as part of the creature faction of Wizarding society, along with werewolves and hags and banshees or whatever else. There were laws put in place to have him executed if he was found out, especially now that he had murdered someone. He couldn't take the chance, and even though the look on Fleur's face made him want to cringe away from the scene he couldn't find it in himself to regret his words.

He had to keep her away from him, just in case there was a slight chance she put things together. That was why, all through the time she had been here, he had muttered insults and traded mean sentiments with Ginny, making sure she heard. And Bill, too. Surprisingly, he hadn't had to try long before they got annoyed. Ron crossed his arms firmly, and continued to watch the scene unfold.

Bill shook his head, walking over to touch her wrists gently. "No, love, you don't have to do that."

Ginny sniggered. "Why? We'd all be better off if she did."

"Why are you so horrible? Really?" Bill glared fiercely at her, and Ginny only matched the ferosity in his gaze.

"But she doesn't deserve you! Fleur's just a snobby bitch who managed to snag an engagement through her looks alone. I'll bet you two would have never gotten together if she wasn't a veela." Behind her, Molly sucked in a sharp breath.

Well, if he'd wanted her gone that badly _,_ Ron observed, he could've just waited for something like this to happen. It was only a matter of time what with almost everyone having quite questionable tempers.

Ron saw Fleur swallow roughly, blinking rapidly before turning away. "No," she said, frosted gaze landing back on Ginny. "See- this is why I can't stay. I need to go for everyone's sake." She sighed.

There was silence for a few moments, until Bill nodded and squeezed Fleur's shoulder. "If... if you lot don't want us to stay here, then we'll go. I know you'd prefer we broke off the engagement altogether, but I won't do that."

Ginny smirked and shook her head bemusedly, starting to pick at the sleeve of her top, and

Bill threw her one last sad glance, catching Ron's eyes in the web of disappointment too. How awful it must feel to have nobody in your family approve of someone you loved so much, but Ron was in no position to help. He was doing this to keep suspicion away from him and therefore keep his family safe. Oh Merlin, he wanted to tell them all what had happened to him so much that the urge to do so felt like Mordecai's hand wrapped around his throat, choking him like that night in the forest. Ron tried to muster the coldest glare he could for his brother, and could practically see the shutters going up behind his eyes, like a reflection of the ominous wall between them.

They walked past, nobody bothering to stop them. Ron waited till they were almost level before dragging his gaze from the floor, meeting Fleur's eyes and receiving a... nod. A nod. A gesture of almost friendly understanding passed between the two that made the pressure in Ron's throat threaten to snap.

Something was wrong. She _knew_ something - Ron could swear the way her crystal blue eyes cleared and latched onto his that- that all was not right. His legs turned to lead and he had to repress a shudder with how easily she seemed to look into his- well, his soul, it felt like. His ears pricked as they began to discuss where they would stay by the door, shrugging on cloaks and clasping hands.

"What about zee Lonely Crescent?"

" _That_ place?" Ron could practically hear the frown in Bill's voice. "But... all sorts frequent that place. You know how it is."

"I suppose, but eet's closest and cheapest. Plus, zey would not bother us if zere was 'all sorts'."

A sigh. "You're right. We can deal with a couple werewolves or vampires or whoever else appears there."

She laughed, a soft noise issuing from down the hall (presumably a kiss) and Bill muttered a spell to summon their things from his room. Back in the kitchen, Molly frowned and went into the hall. "Where are you two staying?"

"The Lonely Crescent." Bill's cold tone indicated he didn't want care what she thought of that, and Ron peeked his head around the kitchen doorway to glimpse the two spinning on the spot, a loud crack slicing through the air.

His mother shut the front door with a quiet click, and rested her back against it. Ron should have felt glad they were gone, but from the empty stare on his mother's face and the uneasiness in his stomach from Fleur's nod he felt far, far from it. At least he knew where they went.

The Lonely Crescent wasn't too far from here, only about an hour's walk. And that was without any extra stamina. If he wanted to go there it would be a much shorter journey.

Would it be worth a trip? The way Fleur had been so rigid about staying there, where all sorts were welcome was almost suspicious. That combined with the nod made Ron wonder if her veela heritage wasn't so distant after all. He exhaled slowly, scrubbing his palm with one hand and went to sit back at down at the table, across from Ginny. Bill probably wouldn't be too happy if he decided to drop in, but the need to keep his secret was worth any unpleasantness he might encounter.

Maybe it was just a feeling - maybe Fleur wasn't hinting at anything, and he was just being stupid. But it was worth the risk to find out.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed - this was quite a dramatic chapter. Also look at me flexng my french, oh wow, s'il vous plait, quite the feat. Thanks again!

-Tea33.


	7. The Lonely Crescent

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Seven: The Lonely Cresent

His mother hissed lowly before spinning round to face both of them. " _What_ ," she bit out through gritted teeth. "Is _wrong_ with you two?"

Ginny stood up at once, chair clattering noisily behind her. "You wanted her gone too! I was only saying what needed to be said what was on everyone else's minds, too!"

His father shook his head, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "You still shouldn't have said those awful things to her, Ginny."

"But I was _right_! And you weren't saying a thing, so-"

They continued arguing, but Ron quickly lost his focus on their conversation, his thoughts instead drifting to his mother stood stationary in the hall, not having spoken a word since starting off the argument. "Mum? You all right?" he asked quietly. She jumped.

"Oh, yes dear, just... thinking." She smiled at him quickly, but there was a distant look in her light, brown eyes. Her brows knitted together. "What did you say to Bill in there?"

Ron shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. Ginny..." he paused; he had been about to say what she said was worse, but could he be sure? Ron had gone quite far, saying Fleur didn't deserve basic respect, but... he just really, really needed her gone. And from that nod he begun to think she Fleur what he was thinking, since she had never bowed down to anyone like that before. But then again, Ron hadn't seen her in two years, and they hadn't been the best of friends before that. He couldn't be expected to know what she was like.

Even still, it was suspicious, in his opinion. The whole situation: her nodding at him when he had just insulted her to her face. He frowned and went to go upstairs, the shouting match in the kitchen already starting to begin. It wasn't much of a surprise when those of his mother's joined in. It sounded like his parents versus his sister, or maybe his father versus his mother and sister, or perhaps they were all at odds with one another. Ron didn't care - he had already tuned them out.

It was easy to do that. Even before the whole vampire thing, Ron had always had a talent for zoning out, chopping away distractions and focusing on his thoughts or a particularly inviting daydream. Living with so many people and the noise that constantly seemed to accompany them was the norm for Ron. At Hogwarts, and at home. He heard a particularly loud shriek and then a clatter; probably Ginny. She tended to throw things when she got upset, as he had the misfortune to learn when pissing her off one too many times.

The fighting had never bothered him too much. After managing to steady his temper a little more, Ron found that he quite honestly could not care. Arguments were fun, insults stimulation to keep going. Whatever. He had better things to think about than get pissed about what someone did.

Footsteps, clattering out of the kitchen and thumping up the stairs. A few moments later and his sister appeared at his elbow. He raised his eyebrows. "Was it a plate or a cup?"

Her chest still rising and falling rapidly, Ginny sprinted on ahead, long red hair spreading out behind her in a sheet. "Both, actually. And I missed."

He nodded. "You good?"

She turned sharply at the top of the staircase. "Does it look like I am?"

From her twisted grimace and angry flip of her hair, Ron would say no. But he just sent her a hard look, to which she sighed irritably and stalked into her room, slamming the door behind her. The sound resounded through the house, and on cue Ron heard the shouts from downstairs starting up again. Great. Thanks, Ginny.

He hammered on her door. "Open up!"

A muffled shout, but Ron could hear it quite well. "Fuck off."

He snorted. "Sorry, what?" He asked, feigning deaf. Furious footsteps slammed up to the door again and the door opened with a swing that swooshed like the wind.

"What?" she snapped.

Ron pulled an incredulous face at her, positioning his foot so that in case she slammed it again it couldn't keep him out. "What're you so torn up about?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"I'd answer that if I weren't afraid of getting it wrong."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Stop being an idiot."

"Sorry. But why so angry? She's gone now. We don't have anything to worry about." He shrugged, and her eyes sharpened.

"Yeah, and they're blaming it for me."

Ron nodded slowly. "And is it not your fault, then?"

"Dunno." Ginny sighed. "I s'pose... I was a bit horrible. I called her a snobby bitch."

Again, he nodded, glimpsing Ginny's face crumpling a little as he did. "Yeah. You were pretty horrible."

"And you? What did you say?" Her eyes were wide and accusing. "It must've been bad, since I don't think I've ever seen Bill so mad."

"Well, it was uh..." He swallowed before beginning again. "I said she didn't deserve human decency since she wasn't human."

Ginny let out a low whistle. "Wow, that's pretty bad."

"Y'think?"

She nodded at him solemnly, an achingly slow pace clearly meant to mock him. "Yes." She dropped the expression, replacing it quickly with a frown and a raised eyebrow. "But who was worse?"

"Me, for sure," he replied quickly. "But how do we fix it?"

"Fix it? Why would we do that?"

Ron frowned in reciprocation of her frown. "Because we were very mean. I'm not saying she has to move back in" -He definitely wasn't, because if Fleur ended up back at the Burrow that would defeat the entire point of this- "But do you want another brother estranged? Look what Percy did to Mum, and nobody even liked him."

Ginny nodded. "Good point. And Percy wasn't that bad; he was quite nice before he got that job at the Ministry-" (Ron rolled his eyes) "-but... how do we go about this so that we get Bill back, and not Fleur? I was looking forward to seeing him again until _she_ turned up beside him."

He released a slow breath, scratching his chin with his hand absently. The plan needed to end up with Bill and the family on good terms again, but keep them far away from the house. Whilst he was still learning how to hide it all (specifically, how to find something to drink without drawing attention to himself) Ron wanted the least amount of pressure possible. Also, when his mother was worried about something she tended to project all her energy into caring for the people around her, like for instance badgering Ron to eat more. From how lost she looked after Fleur and Bill disapparated, he

But there was still a few weeks until he had to go to Hogwarts. And thank Merlin, because he was making a mess of this already. He just wanted anyone with a chance of discoving what he was far, far away and as a part veela Fleur fell under that category.

After the incident in the forest, Ron would have completely refused to ever see mordecai again, but he didn't have much choice. If he stopped seeing him the dememented man would probably hunt him down. Mordecai's skills as a hitman were terrifying enough to imagine that Ron would prefer to just keep submissive, where nobody got hurt. It wasn't just his life (or what was left of it) hanging in the balance; his very mortal family were also at risk here.

So, despite everything from his heart to his brain to his fucking _toes_ telling him to keep the fuck away from him, Ron was still going to meet Mordecai in the forest. That night, and the ones that followed.

Ginny shook her head. "I meant what I said - I don't care if it was mean. Why do you?"

"I don't know... I just feel bad about it." He already had enough on his conscience. "But... maybe it'd be best to just leave it. Oh, I don't know..."

"And what do you hope to achieve by apologising?"

"What are you, a survey?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying, chill. Fill and Bleur are gone now and there is nothing to worry about. Calm the fuck down, you righteous Gryffindor. Job's done: the sister-in-law from hell is gone." Ginny scoffed at him once more before and shutting her door again. Ron frowned and began to walk up to his own room.

Did he want to apologise? Merlin... maybe Ginny was right, and he should just let it go. But maybe he should go out and meet Fleur purely _because_ of that one nod. He might just be jumping to conclusions, but maybe if he'd done that before things would have been much less complicated. Ron was very good at hiding from thoughts and feelings that scared him; he was able to brush them off at least for a while, which was why he was able to deny that he had turned into a vampire for so long. He felt like an idiot looking back when the signs were so obvious.

Well, there wasn't much he could do about it now but try and learn from his mistakes. Ron needed to go with his gut instinct. Sort of. And something was telling him to see what the hell that gesture from Fleur was about. Why would she nod at him after he just insulted her behind her back? It didn't make sense, not unless something else was going on.

So, if he went down the Lonely Crescent he could use the backup story that he was apologising. It would satisfy Mum, and Bill too. A win-win situation - and, even if they were all friends again, Ron didn't reckon Bill and Fleur would try moving back into the Burrow again. It was a terrible idea in the first place, and the fact it all collapsed (even without Ron's help) was no surprise to him, or Ginny. But, things would be doubly worse if Fleur figured out what he was.

Having reached his room, he collapsed into his bed and glanced at the floor in the corner. He eventually got rid of the bloody clothes he wore that night by vanishing them for lack of anything better to do, but the image of those clothes lying in a bloody heap on the floor would be burned into his memory forever.

Surprisingly, it hadn't hurt too much. His arm felt like jelly; but then, he did drop his wand and got was thrown into a tree. By the time he came around again all the bones had healed - and thank Merlin, because he hadn't been looking forward to choking down some skele-gro.

That was one perk. Never having to go to Madam Pomfrey again. But, if he was obviously injured that could raise some odd questions... well, he'd just have to try hard not to get poisoned or something equally stupid that would only happen at Hogwarts and end up revealing his status of immortality.

Downstairs, the shouting had finally stopped. Good; now it would be easier to try and reinforce the walls of his mind Quidditch pitch- and wow, that sounded stupid. Ron shook his head, clearing his head of the cluttered thoughts crowding his mindspace and closed his eyes. He crossed his legs and sat on top of the bed before grumbling and uncrossing them. How were you supposed to sit? He sighed and collapsed on top of his pillow, trying to envision the pitch.

Ron gave a long, suffering sigh. Well, he was here. Whereas before there was a gentle breeze and the grass was all lovely and trimmed, now weeds sprawled up the sides of the stands and huge patches of the field was weathered and brown. The breeze was nowhere to be seen.

And his memories? Ron looked straight to his feet and saw all of them dumped at his feet in unmoving photographs. He picked one up and turned it over in his hand; his sister laughed at him and high-fived Fred as Ron tried to make his way down the stairs with shoes knotted in a frankly frightening knot. He smirked as he remembered how bloody _long_ it took them to untie it. His mother forced them to do it since it was them who who sabotaged his trainers whilst he was asleep. Bloody gits.

Where could he put it? A... broom shed? As if on cue one appeared right next to the Hufflepuff stand, and he walked over to it and pulled the door open. It was small but compact, and had a good amount of space inside. Enough room to store some pictures. Ron glanced upon the glazed surface one last time before placing it inside an empty box on a shelf. He swallowed.

They would be safe in there. Without even pausing to think where they were coming from Ron began to pile in more and more pictures until the box was almost bursting at the seams. Still he tried to fit in as many as he could, corners creasing and sides sticking together. He didn't care though - he just had to keep them all safe from Mordecai.

Even when the box was close to bursting there were still hundreds left to go. He sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day.

* * *

Gasping, Ron sat up straight in his bed. His hands shook like he had actually been frantically stuffing things into boxes, and he sat there for a moment gathering his thoughts and getting them under control again. His hands stopped shaking.

He had sorted away some of his memories, which surely meant they would be protected now. Hidden from Mordecai's ruthless Legilimency, hopefully. But whether or not those boxes held up against intrusion he would find out later on.

* * *

"Were you... successful?"

Mordecai paused. "Successful? Going by my bank account, yes, but-"

"With hiding all of it."

He turned round to face Ron, frown sat on his face and eyes a solid, glittering brown. "I assume you mean the girl's death?" He nodded. A strange expression came across Mordecai's face, making it oddly vacant. "Yes."

Ron twirled his wand in his hands, feeling the smooth wood slide across his skin. "Why did you make me say all that stuff yesterday?"

He knew what he was talking about immediately - Ron knew from the way his eyes suddenly glazed over. "Because, you needed to learn a lesson."  
"And what lesson would that be?"

"To control how your emotions affect you, and that I won't always be around to fix your mistakes."  
"My mistakes? You- you- why didn't you at least _help_?"

"What, and have you fuck up the next time around because there was nobody to steady your hand?"

"I was nervous! You just thrust the knife at me and told me to cut her arm!"

"Yeah, and you failed miserably," Mordecai stated without an ounce of sympathy. "I just got you to admit it, so you could move on."  
"What the hell?" Ron stared at him, appalled. "You made me kill someone just so I could learn to take responsibility for my actions?"

"Yeah. You put it pretty well, actually-"

Ron stopped listening at that, and steadied his wand in his hand, making sure it didn't tremble. He wouldn't waver when it mattered the most. "Shall we do some duelling?"

A mischievous smirk stole over his face. "Excellent. Put your rage to good use."

Ron didn't hesitate to throw out a stunning spell, which although was immediately blocked meant that he was preoccupied and had less chance of seeing the second stunning spell that Ron threw out a moment later. Mordecai laughed, side-stepping it and snapping his fingers.

Ron only had time to look up before he saw a large shape looming toward him: a... piano? The ominous, glossy black instrument thudded to the floor, sending shards of wood and loose keys everywhere. They were littered throughout the forest floor, small slivers of cream amongst the greenery.

Ron was too surprised to do much more than dodge, so was caught completely off-guard by the next hex coming through - a stinging hex, that caught him right in the eye and made him clap his hand to it and shriek in pain. "OW! THE HELL WAS THAT FOR, YOU FU-"

"Oh no, are you pissed off?" Mordecai said, again dodging the large splinter of wood thrown his way. "Come and get me, then!"

He growled, and sent an extra jolt of power into creating very nasty looking spikes from the remains of the grand piano. They were definitely lethal, and Ron could just imagine Mordecai lying atop of them, the tip pushing right through his chest and punishing his cruel ways. He waved his wand savagely, and one of them rose and curved through the air, two more joining it. They whistled like harpoons, one landing where his head had been before he ducked, the second where his arm would have been had he not jolted out of the way, and the third... the third he jumped right into its course and was promptly skewered.

Ron stood there for a moment, eyes widened and breath pulsing through his chest despite the lack of need to. He spun round, hands grasping his tussled locks of hair. "I... I did it!"

"Did what?" Ron turned back around to find a very annoyed Mordecai right in front of him, clothes torn and blood leaking from his chest. He grunted and pressed one hand to the wound on his chest, pausing the flow.

Right in front of his eyes the blood seemed to stop up, skin knitting together back over the top. Mordecai folded his filthy coat back over to hide it, and that was when Ron noticed the bloody, broken plank in his hand.

"Wait, wait, no-!"

* * *

"And where, exactly, have _you_ been?"

Ron had hardly opened the door when he noticed someone else was on the other side; their breathing loud, too loud to ignore. It was like they were right next to him. But, he had been focusing on sensing if someone was there, so he shouldn't have been surprised.

He smiled. "Ginny. What're you doing up so early?"

"What're you doing out so late."

He smiled even wider, hoping to cover up the nerves bubbling up inside and kicking off his shoes and shutting the door behind him. "I went for a walk."

"At five in the morning?"

Ron shrugged. "You were up too, so what if I fancied going out-"

"Look, if you're going out to meet someone I won't tell Mum. I'm not a snitch, and I'm also not stupid," said Ginny, pointing a finger at him. The effect was ruined slightly by the startling yawn that slid over her scowl a moment later. She frowned again, clearly awaiting an answer.

He held up his arms in surrender. "Fine, sure. I was out meeting someone."

She grinned, reminding Ron of a sly cat. "Hooking up with them too? A summer fling?"

He snorted before he could stop himself. "If you like."

Ginny folded her arms across her chest as she fell into step beside Ron up the stairs. "You know that's where Fred and George were disappearing off to last summer, right?"

Ron paused, jaw hanging open for a few seconds. "You're joking?"

"Nope."

"And I thought they were doing stuff for their shop," he said, shaking his head dazedly. "You know who they dated?"

"Nah. I think I saw Fred talking to the girl in the paper shop one day, though."

"Have you gone out?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. When I wanted to. But mostly it's been to hang out with Luna, since I'm already seeing someone."

"I thought you broke up with Michael Corner." The last statement was less of a question and more of a threat, so Ron's tone dipped a little.

"Yeah." Ginny turned to face him as they reached the landing that their rooms lay on, eyes ringed with slight shadows. It was still quite early. "Well, now I'm dating someone else. Dean."

His eyebrows shot up. " _What_? Dean Thomas, like the one in my dorm?"

She laughed quietly. "Yes, that Dean. And be quiet; Mum's asleep."

"Like you should be," he muttered.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "And you - you still look shattered." Ginny nodded at him, and turned the handle of her door, disappearing inside and a few moments later he heard the springs of her bed creak. He sighed.

Dean and his sister? Bit weird. But she probably wouldn't listen to him if he tried to get them to break up, and as long as they didn't start snogging everywhere he wasn't too bothered. But why had Ginny been waiting for him? Did she- did she suspect something too? Ron thought he had been careful - had he not been careful _enough_?

First it was Fleur, and now Ginny. Who would be next: Mum, Dad? Maybe he should just give up this whole thing and come clean. Mordecai wouldn't have to know; Ron certainly didn't tell him about Fleur's nod, only that her and Bill had left. He had a feeling that Mordecai was watching the house, though. Would the wards put him far back enough that he couldn't see through the windows?

Ron, now inside of his room, pulled his shirt off with such force it ripped a little. Unbothered, he dragged his wand against the broken seam, twice, all the while mumbling incantations. Mordecai taught him how to repair his clothes and siphon the blood off them. Sometimes Ron thought that with all the extra spells and other things he was learning it was like having a tutor. A fucked-up, family-threatening tutor. If Mordecai knew what Fleur could suspect, he would kill her. And Bill. Ron didn't have a doubt about that. The job was more important than people's lives, apparently. That much was clear.

Ron hadn't forgotten about that night in the forest. He didn't think he ever would, no matter what happened to him or how much time passed. Whenever he closed his eyes the memory was imprinted on the back of his eyelids, dragging him back to the dark forest with the dead body and a cruel vampire against any protest.

So, he didn't sleep. And he didn't need to. Ron felt just as energised, if not more than before. It was stupid how nothing affected the iron-like strength of his new core. His ears picked up on things they weren't supposed to, eyes drawn into finite details that were _supposed_ to escape the glimpse of the human eye. Tendrils of grass, patterns of leaves and bark. Droplets of ink leaking off a quill.

He hadn't even attempted any of his homework yet. He did the reading, but every time he sat down to start an essay his hand just froze. Hopefully it stopped soon, because flunking out of Hogwarts on top of this would be _terrible_.

He just didn't want to worry his mother. Regardless of the drama with his brother and her fiancee, this summer especially her face had looked a little more drawn than he remembered, clothes looser. The war was taking its toll on her, and the constant worrying about her family. He just didn't want to add to that with his stupid, insignificant problems. She had bigger things to concern herself with, like Order meetings.

Although it had been quiet lately, the Order meetings were now being held at the Burrow rather than Grimmauld Place. Nobody had been back there since Sirius died. It belonged to Harry now. Ron looked outside, at the pale blotches of sky peeking through the darkened clouds like chipped grey varnish. The spell of sunny weather was coming to an end, it seemed. But after every storm, the weather cleared. Ron wondered distantly if he took off his ring and stepped outside when the clouds were out, if he would burn. Honestly he wouldn't be too concerned if his test failed completely.

* * *

This was it. Ron had walked all the way across the village, pausing to watch people go about their business in the middle, and had finally reached the Lonely Crescent. It was around midday, the sun still glaringly bright in the sky and making his skin prickle despite the protection of the rune ring. It was just knowing what _could_ happen if he were to slip off the ring right now... Ron allowed himself to shift the ring slightly before placing his hand back at his side. None of his family had asked about it. Probably hadn't noticed, and probably didn't care. Bill had a bloody fang as an earring; a small, silver ring paled in comparison to that.

Now was the moment - he was supposed to push the door open, and scan the bar for Fleur. He hoped it wouldn't be too hard to find her. He held out a hand, but dropped it quickly and let it curl into a fist at his side.

Damn it, this wasn't the time to be _stupid_ about this. Ron shook his head, and steadied himself. He didn't have much time; he hadn't told anyone he had gone. On his desk lay a note that explained his absence by saying he went for a walk, and would be gone for around an hour or two. He had gotten down here fairly quickly (almost _too_ quickly for Ron's liking) and... well, now he needed to go in there and talk to Fleur.

There was nothing for it. He took a deep breath, the way it hardly affected him only reminding him horribly of his new condition, and pushed open the door.

At once a wave of warmth washed over him. Pleasant lights like honey glazed over the room painted in a rich, albeit chipped red. Or was it more of a mauve colour? Ron turned his head to the side and saw small, round tables set up in one corner, squashy sofas accompanied with a large, mahogany brown bar with stools clustered around it. A man tending the bar with thick, dirty blond curls paused in his task of drying glasses and glanced at him before turning back to the rag in his hand, unbothered. Something in the depths of his eyes stirred.

The pub was pleasantly full. Ron swallowed, stepping forwards into the now sweltering heat. Open windows had no effect on the humid temperature gathering within from the crowds of people sat lolling about on the furniture, glasses of colourful liquids held in their palms.

Curtains darkened with age hung over the musty windows, and the floorboards creaked underneath his feet. Stale air filled the pub in a mix of sweat and heat. Ron caught snatches of conversation from a short, grey haired woman to her friend; "Who's he?"

They took a large gulp of the butterbeer curled in their grasp. "Don't know, but he's too young."

"He's a _vampire_ , love. How can you tell? And you say that like I'm old."

"Just look at him, love," they said, tone odd. "Like a bloody deer on new legs. He looks so clueless I just want to go over and help him." Ron swivelled his head round to make eye contact with them, and they smirked back... but luckily, stayed back. His eyes roamed past them and to a larger group sat around a table with cards sat on them. The group cheered as one slapped down a card in front of a surly looking gentleman, who scowled and pushed back from the table frustratedly, purposely barging into Ron on his way out.

"Sorry, you got in the way," he said, grinning madly and throwing his arms out in a gesture of faux apology, eyes glinting before spinning around, tugging his blazer tighter around his shoulder. Ron straightened the collar of his shirt and walked up to the bar.

"Butterbeer please," he said.

The man fixed him with a searching look. "You're a vampire."

"Can I just have it?" said Ron, sliding a hand into his pocket and brought out a few sickles. The man still looked suspicious, and Ron swallowed again. He noticed his hand had tightened on the dusty glass he'd been wiping down, and he inhaled slightly-

Wolf. There was a wolf stood in front of him. He just knew, the smell, the eyes, everything. Ron suddenly knew what was wrong. "I won't do anything," he finally said, and the man nodded.

He spoke once more as he brought up the bottle and stared at the silver sickles on the counter. "You better not, or you're dead. There en't no rules about who can and can't come in this place, but if anyone causes trouble, you're out on your ass with a few new scars. Got it?"

Ron nodded quickly.

The bartender looked soothed, even flicking him a slight smile - that quickly disappeared once he looked at the coins. "These runed?" he asked quickly, examining the coins.

"Er, no..."

He looked wary at Ron's lack of answer. "God, you are new to this, aren't you?" he muttered before shaking his head. "Essentially, you never rune something you give to a friend. Got it?"

Ron nodded. "Got it."

The bartender searched him for a second more with his eyes before he was called away to fetch a drink for someone else.

Ron pulled the cap off with ease, metal bending slightly under his touch and pressing into his finger and took a sip. Ron grimaced. Merlin... it was too sweet. Like swallowing thick syrup. Everything was though, nowadays. It was decent enough to swallow down, however, and provided a distraction. He turned his head and caught someone descending the stairs, with a slightly familiar willowy gait and silver hair. Fleur.

He remained nonchalant, apart from the tightening of his jaw and waited until she got closer. She sat down beside him at the bar, taller than him sat on the worn barstool.

She lowered her voice, the hubbub of the small pub covering it well. "Ronald. What are you doing 'ere?"

He shrugged, playing with the cap with rounded edges in his fingers. "Just wanted to get out the house for a while."

"Here? Zee Lonely Cresent, an hour's walk away from your home and where you knew me and Bill were staying?"

"Yeah." He glanced at the bartender passing them by. "Good service." The bartender glared at him. Despite Ron's calm (or what he hoped it was) exterior, he was wondering whether he should just bolt now. Oh _Merlin_ , what was he thinking coming here, of all places. He was too young, and this place was too _sketchy_. His hand tensed; sure, he could take care of himself, especially with his improved duelling skills, but damn it... he wondered if he really was just jumping to conclusions, if that nod really was just nothing. But he just had to know.

She smiled almost impishly. "And how did you know we were staying here?"

"I heard you talking about it in the hall."

"How? We were very far away, too far for you to possibly 'ear-"

"What about that look you gave me when you were leaving?" He changed the topic bluntly, but Fleur smiled.

"What look?"

"You... nodded at me. After I insulted you. Multiple times."

She shrugged slightly, eyes drawn to the bartender where she signalled him over. "One butterbeer, please." Fleur turned back to Ron. "Because I understand why you did it."

"Did what?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid, Ronald. No matter what your family refuse to mention. I know why you wanted me gone, and Bill. And I don't blame you."

He hardly dared to even breath, the words dancing on the tip of his tongue but somehow none of them making it out. She continued on.

"I know what you are, Ron. What you're hiding."

He froze, and she continued on, voice low and tone deadly serious.

"You are, a va-"

"Don't say it," he hissed lowly, grasping the discarded lid of his butterbeer so hard it bent in on itself and folded. "You don't know what you're talking about-"

"Don't I?" She laughed, the sound airy and somehow threatening at the same time. "I have met others like you before." Her eyes narrowed in intrigue. "I have a few questions - how? And when? You were not always like zis, Bill would-"

Ron opened and closed his mouth several times, every time his jaw clenching shut and working furiously to try and form some words. "You- no, you're wrong, no-"

Her eyes narrowed further, the edges changing into cool, sharp ice. "Don't deny eit," she bit out sharply, her accent growing thicker. "I was going to ask Bill about it, but-"

"No!"

She paused for a moment, mouth opening to form a small 'O'. "Oh... you 'aven't... nobody else knows, do zey?" He said nothing, but that didn't deter her. "I knew zat you weren't often noticed, but... your family 'aven't realised what you are?"

He finally found his voice again. "They have bigger things to worry about."

"More zan zeir son being a vampire?"

He shushed her. "Keep your voice down, I don't want other people knowing."

She rolled her eyes again. "Oh calm down, almost everyone in 'ere is some kind of something... zey probably realised the first second you walked in here." Ron heard someone chuckle across the room, but he brushed it off.

"Even still... don't start spouting that in public."

Her eyes lit up with frosty fire, and she laughed again. "So I am wrong about you being vampire zen?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. "My veela 'eritage is not zat distant. I knew there was something wrong with you, but it was only after watching how still you are, and how sometimes you just don't breath or blink for far too long zat I wondered if you were a vampire. You never eat, either."

His chest tightened a little. "I'm not... I don't-"

"You do when nobody is looking."

Ron paused. Had he... failed? After all that he had been through these past few nights, was it all for nothing? "How does that prove anything, though? So what if I'm quiet?"

"You don't like to eat anymore, or drink. You sneak out every night. You are just _too still_. When I was talking to Bill about where we were staying, you heard eet. You should not be able to."

"So you're accusing me of being a vampire because I have good hearing?"

Fleur's frown became even more focused. "George?"

The bartended turned round, teatowel slung over one shoulder. "Yes?"

"Is 'e a vampire?"

He only considered Ron for a moment. "Oh, yes. I've already spoken to him about it." He glanced at Ron and turned back to wiping glasses. Fleur shot him an expression as if to say, 'I told you so', and Ron swallowed nervously. 

"Still, they can't know."

"They'll find out," said the bartender. "Sooner or later they will. Your family."

"This isn't any of your business."

The werewolf's eyebrows raised. "No need to get fiesty. I'm just offering guidance. And I'm telling you, they'll find out. One way or another, and things would work out better if it was you they found it out from, trust me."

"Not just any guy. He's a werewolf."

Ron felt the bottom of his stomach drop out, but didn't let it show. "All right. I... still won't. Not yet," he added on hastily, just so they wouldn't nag him anymore.

George turned back around and leaned over the top of the bar, Ron drawing back. "Don't worry - I won't say anything. I don't even know who you are." He frowned. "On second thoughts, you look an awful lot like a Weasley... but then there are loads of them, so even just going off that wouldn't tell me much." He looked at Fleur. "Hey Fleur. How's things going?"

She gave a strained but pleasant smile. "Fine. Could you... please go? I just need to discuss zis with my friend here."

George nodded. "Sure." He moved off to the side again, speaking to other people shooting Ron and Fleur some odd looks.

Fleur looked at him. "See? Not everyone is going to freak out, so like George said you should tell your family-"

A voice interrupted her, one that, had he still had a heartbeat, would've caused it to stutter.

" _Ron?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm evil, I know. Sorry 'bout the cliffhanger lol, but thank you all for reading!
> 
> -Tea33
> 
> Also, any of you ever seen a piano fight before? Didn't think so. Now you have. You're super welcome, btw ;)
> 
> Thank you all so much for reviewing, favouriting and following too!


	8. Disappearances

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Eight: Disappearances

Ron gulped, hard. Insides freezing and crumbling like ice chips and then falling to the floor, he turned slowly, to see his brother standing nearby with a thunderous expression on his face. Bill's eyes narrowed, pupils alight with fury. "Ron, what the _fuck_ are you doing here?" He demanded, after storming over and suddenly in Ron's face.

"I'm uh... I'm-" he was stuck. Ron's tongue couldn't seem to formulate any kind of answer fast enough, and so he stood there, having risen slowly from his barstool looking like an idiot in front of his brother, whose face is slowly reddening more and more until it rivalled the dusky scarlet of the walls in the pub.

"I thought you would stop, you know, once I got Fleur out of the house," He growled, expression torn with hurt and anger. "But you just couldn't help yourself, could you?" Bill roars. "What is _wrong_ with you?! Do you enjoy upsetting people? What you said about Fleur was fucking horrible, and I swear, Ron, if you so much as-"

"I came here to apologise!" Ron blurted out, before he could think of anything better. Fleur's expression was unreadable over his shoulder. and he paused, chest seized up in anticipation waiting for Bill to say _something_.

Apparently, it was the right thing to say. He sucked in a breath, eyes wide, before lurching forward and tackling Ron into an enveloping hug. Ron tried not to freak out too much, patting his back and swallowing, forcing himself to breathe and hoping that his missing heartbeat wasn't too noticeable.

Bill pulled back, and the alarm welded in Ron's chest begins to drain away to his stomach, adding to the weight of guilt there. He tried to rearrange his face into something other than blind panic, snapping his arms back as fast as he can without seeming odd.

Merlin, he just needs to be _normal._

But, maybe he wasn't careful enough. Again. Bill's eyebrows were drawn downwards in something akin to concern, and his arm stayed clenched on Ron's shoulder for a moment longer than it should have.

Ron grinned slightly, going for sheepish. "Erm, everything all right?"

"Yeah, I just..." The frown disappeared, and Bill was beaming happily again like everything was right in the world again. "I'm just glad you've finally come to your senses."

The smile on his face feels hideously fake, but some part of Ron feels glad Bill doesn't entirely hate him. "I, uh- I'm sorry for saying all of that yesterday." From over his shoulder, he spots Fleur smirking, and that put a strain on Ron's expression even more.

How... how can Bill be _smiling_ right now? To Ron, the world's just ended. Fleur _knows_. Not- not everything, but... enough. More than fucking enough.

She knows. She knows what he is, and that was the most dangerous weapon of all. Like a concealed poison. If Fleur said three words to Bill right now, Ron would be done for. He can just imagine it.

"Bill, can I speak to you for a moment?"

"'Course, love." The goofy grin on his face would only make the crushing realisation worse.

"Ron's a vampire."

The words would be sharp and straight-forward, slicing his brother's heart in half and in half again as he turned a fearful glare onto Ron. His expression would look so defeated - and then, it would mold into a terrible glare, staking Ron where he stood and... and... and then what? Where would Ron go from there? Everyone else would find out, and then what could he do? The situation was already too horrendous, and if the rest of his family knew, his friends... Nobody would want to look their lying, hollow, empty shell of a son in the eyes again.

And that terrified him more than he knew how to put into words.

"Ron? Ron, earth to Ron?" His brother's hand waved in his face, and he blinked rapidly a few times, clearing away the situation playing out in his head.

He grinned, and the smile felt like it was tearing his face in half. "Sorry. Went off for a minute there."

But instead of the frown smoothing out on his brother's face, it only grew worse. In fact, from the dull glimmer in his eyes Ron thought he saw... pity? "Ron, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why- why wouldn't I be?" He laughed after his words but the breathless sound only made him sound even more hysterical. He tried to rein in the hundreds of scenarios where Bill demanded to burn down the bar with Ron inside chopped into pieces. He blinked again, and saw the girl lying dead in the forest with a jagged cut spanning her entire arm, going up to her shoulder and crossing her neck despite the magic he tried to save her with. He just made it worse. Like with everything.

The blood flowed thick, and thin, and in a completely unstoppable tsunami of chaos.

Maybe he really should just take off the ring and walk outside in the sunlight.

Bill kept a hand on his shoulder, and Ron glanced at it warily. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm fine," he said, shifting out of his brother's grasp and clearing his throat. Still, Bill doesn't look convinced in the slightest.

"Look, Ron, it's not just today. You've been weird." Bill finally takes his arm off, to let it rest on the back of his neck. "You just... I don't know. You just don't _do_ anything."

"Can't a bloke take a break for the summer?" Hoping to gloss over his earlier fumble, Ron has his face poised to pull an eyebrow incredulously. " _Really?_ First Ginny, and now you?" Apparently this is news to Bill, because he looks surprised. Ron frowned, using actual exasperation to say, "Why d'you keep complaining about how I spend my holiday?"

"No - I don't believe that. I've seen you relaxed, and I've seen you worried." Bill's expression shifted to concern. "Ron; what's going _on_ with you?"

Ron shrugged. "I really don't know what you want me to say, Bill."

He was scrutinised under his brother's gaze, pinned to the spot by those quizzical eyes, scanning his face for lies. But Ron was an open book - until you got past the glamoured eyes, of course.

He sighed in exasperated defeat. "Fine," he said, frowning heavily all throughout. "But... are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, 'course." The reply was easy, a pre-prepared lie that dripped off his tongue like honey. He watched as his brother's expression transformed to relief from that one single ingredient. Instead, he turned his attention to Fleur, gaze practically melting as it landed on her. "And you - are you all right, love?"

She smiled softly, something that shouldn't have suited her but somehow did. "Of course, Bill. I was just talking to Ronald 'ere. He eez very sorry, you know." She tilted her head reproachfully toward him, and the panic in his mind stilled somewhat.

She hadn't told; at least not yet. He had to remember that now she had that information, she could use it against him at any time. Mordecai couldn't know about this, either. If he did he would surely murder Ron, and he was the only one who actually knew _how_ to-

no. Now, there was Fleur, too, and he didn't doubt she knew how to go about killing a vampire as well. Excellent: _two_ people he had to look out for now.

Bill grasped both of them, Fleur and Ron, into a tight hug with each of their heads resting on an adjacent shoulder. His brother wasn't much of a hugger, so that meant when he did it was worth a lot to him. Fleur stared at him from over Bill's mane of long, red hair, a pitying, stern look that was clearly meant to be interpreted as, _I don't like what you're doing, but I'll go along with it._

Ron though he nearly fainted with relief.

* * *

It wasn't for another hour that he went home again, stomach full of the syrupy sweetness belonging to the butterbeer that he used to love. Ron squinted at the dusty, golden sun grating warmly through the withered, dark green summer leaves. Merlin, he couldn't _wait_ for winter, when everything would be cold and dead and not a constant threat to burn him alive, since it was Ron's thinking that he would have an easier time forgetting it if the sunlight was a weak, milky light blocked by layers of clothing. Maybe not. It would still kill him either way.

Bill had forgiven him. He had been skeptical, obviously, of Ron's intentions at first, but after Fleur backed up his story he became a hell of a lot nicer. It was clear that Fleur meant a lot to him - after all, he had put her before the rest of his family. To be honest, Ron wasn't sure what his mum had hoped to gain by antagonising the pair. Yes, it was unexpected, and Ron wasn't sure he would ever put them together, but... they worked well together, in a way. Their hands had linked almost immediately the moment when Bill had sat beside Fleur on a stool, and Ron opposite them. In fact, it was embarrassing the amount of times Ron had to pointedly turn in the other direction because they were looking deeply into each other's eyes, or some such romantic thing.

They had also discussed what everyone else thought about them. Ron said Ginny wasn't too bothered, despite what she said the previous night (and she'd have to pay him back later for digging her ungrateful ass out of a very deep hole) and was just being over-protective. Mum and Dad he wasn't sure about, but Ron had mentioned he thought they would come around since they valued family and all that stuff.

He also mentioned that maybe it wasn't wise to move in with his new fiancee that anyone hardly knew, or liked, really. Fleur had agreed, which made Bill look half disgruntled that they all shot down his idea, and then half proud that Ron and Fleur were on the same side.

Then, Bill had been forced to agree, having experienced first hand how terribly wrong it went. Maybe a bit of distance would help everyone get along a little better and agreed to wait at least a few months before asking for them to move back in again.

All in all, the visit went quite well. Apart from the glaringly obvious problem that Ron now faced like a ginormous, twenty-foot tall tarantula.

Fleur knew he was vampire. And now everything was going to fall apart, Ron was sure of it. He considered curling up in the nearest bush and to start screaming until someone came and called in the muggle politicians and was carted away to the muggle equivalent of St Mungo's just so didn't have to _worry_ about this shit anymore, but, well, that wouldn't exactly _do_ anything.

He was tougher than this, for Merlin's sake. He was a vampire posing as a sixteen-year-old boy; surely the sister-in-law from hell finding out his secret would just be a minor bump in the road... yeah, everything would work out fine. Despite the fact his brother was already also suspecting him too.

That, and including the fact everyone else seemed to be onto him as well, Ron was inclined to think he was a bit rubbish at the whole secret vampire thing. But it was all _fine_.

Fleur had inisisted they meet again the next week whilst they had been wrapping up the conversation (which had mostly been about the wedding, from Bill), to which his brother had agreed enthusiastically. But, he wanted them to go someplace nicer, where there weren't so many people his mother would disapprove of - probably to increase the chance that she would come along.

The best bet would be the house, but Fleur had shot down that idea.

"Too soon," she had remarked. "Let's just meet 'ere again."

Bill shook his head. "No. Mum would never agree to that."

Ron frowned, turning over an idea in his mind. He looked up again and met their eyes. "What about the park or something?"

Bill snorted. "I don't think we're that young."

"Cafe then?"

"Which one?"

Ron rubbed the back of his neck subconsciously. "Dunno. I think the one down the road's for wizards."

"All right, then. I'll owl you later to talk more about it, but for now, Ron, d'you think Great Aunt Muriel'd come to the wedding?"

"Er..." Ron's blank expression only seemed to make Bill more eager for an answer.

Still, things worked out. Sort-of. But, sort-of was good enough for Ron - especially when he knew, from his own imagination, just how not good things could suddenly turn. Fleur knew his secret, but it looked like she was willing to keep it; Bill didn't want to murder him anymore; there was a chance his family and brother could all be friends again... it was almost too good to be true - if you took out the part that Ron was a vampire.

So, he trudged on home again, head bent low and the almost constant buzz of his thoughts beginning to still. The thirst wasn't too bad, last night he had managed to disarm Mordecai a few times (ignoring the fact he had done so to Ron far many more times), and although the new term inched closer by the second, he was feeling a little more secure about it.

Time passed by, the sunlight waning in the distance. Ron had been out a few hours now, the afternoon stretching thin and moving on towards dusk. The timer on Ron's excuse - that he had gone for a walk - would soon run out. As it was this 'walk' was proving to be an incessantly long one. Still, his mother probably wouldn't be too worried, considering the lack of any Death Eater activity around. Ottery-St-Catchpole was generally a quiet village, where nothing ever really happened. That was what Ron had always thought - until he got attacked by a vampire. He still cursed himself for not being cautious enough.

He neared the stretch of trees where he was turned. Dark, murky, and so full of shadows it shared a certain likeness to a charcoal sketch, Ron wasn't sure why he ever went near that place in the first place.

Well, he supposed it couldn't do any more harm to take a shortcut through there rather than skirting around the long way. He knew it wasn't empty. He knew it wouldn't be, but damn it, he was interested to see what Mordecai actually got up to during the day. Did he sit there watching the house with a pair of omnioculars and glaring through the tinted lenses? Did he ever _sleep_? Thinking about a monster like Mordecai kipping under a tree peacefully was something his mind struggled to conjure an image of.

Ron was curious. And Mordecai was unlikely to kill him for visiting in the day, too. His ears pricked at the wind, listening out for any sound of movement and eyes scanning the trees for a murderer, but nothing came back except for the overwhelming, enveloping swell of darkness.

He stepped forward. Still nothing. Another step. _Still_ nothing. He could hear birds tweeting nearby, rabbits and various other creatures disturbing the thick undergrowth, but nothing else. No psychotic vampire assassin. Ron darted ahead yet another few steps while he still had the nerve and froze, yet again filtering meticulously through his surroundings.

He didn't give himself a minute to relax. Mordecai would just be waiting to seize the moment he forgot all that he had picked up in the last few days, dropping his instincts and grabbing the first sign of intrigue like a greedy toddler. But Ron was a slave to his curiosity - always had been. How else would he have ended up in all those dangerous positions with Harry and Hermione?

Now this... this was odd. He was fast approaching the clearing they would practice in at night, eyes adjusting the brightness ahead, and there was still absolutely nothing. Not forgetting to keep his wand out, Ron checked behind every tree, peered into every questionable shadow, even managed to restrain himself when a bird fluttered nearby and almost made him shriek. Mordecai would be- not proud, but certainly not _disappointed_... but where even was he?

Mordecai was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he had relocated, but Ron couldn't see why. Sticking in the same place where Ron could easily find him if, say, things went wrong (not that he ever would go to Mordecai to solve an issue, not unless he had no choice) and where he had a good view of the house was a good move, so why he would move didn't make sense. Unless... unless... cold crept up Ron's spine, freezing it in place and drying up the back of his throat worse than the most severe bout of thirst. What if he had gone to the Burrow?

Ron began sprinting up the hill, feet pumping rapidly on the warm ground and crunching the withered grass. Without a heartbeat, his limbs felt like they were moving of their own accord, like he had no say in where he was going. It was like being at the head of a machine.

Now, he was fast. But not... too unnaturally, really. Much speedier than before (he could probably beat Charlie now; revenge after years of being beaten in tag) but not as fast as the wind. That still flowed ahead, taunting him and urging him to race up the hill. That and the possible threat of his family.

If Mordecai got into the Burrow, there was no telling what he could do. Hopefully his mother wouldn't just let a suspicious, grubby stranger into the house, would she? But Ron didn't doubt he could be persuasive and charismatic if he wanted to, and he had Legilimency at his arsenal, too. The image of his mother passed out cold on the kitchen tiles urged his legs to speed up even more so, the ground flying past at speeds even his eyes were struggling to adjust to.

He reached the front door, crashing inside and stumbling into the living room, throwing all caution to the wind as he sped inside. The door slammed on its hinges.

Literally breathless, his eyes scanned the room, making out the shape of someone sat in a chair by the window. They looked suspiciously still.

"Mum?" His voice wavered terribly, practically quaking under the circumstances.

She turned her head, smile suddenly extinguished and replaced by concern. "Are you all right love? You look like you've seen a ghost! And what was all that crashing about? This house can't stand much more you know," she tutted, absently flicking over the page in her book and gaze washing over him once more before fixating back on the book in her lap.

Ron almost collapsed with relief, slowly turning away and sinking against a wall in the hallway, his back leaning on it heavily. Sunlight streamed in through a nearby window, Ron shifting out of its path almost subconsciously and brushing a hand across his forehead.

So, his family was safe. For now. But could he be sure? Discreetly, Ron shifted himself out of his crouching position, wandering about the house and rigorously checking each room by peeling open cupboards and rigorously scanning rooms and possible spaces for him to hide him. But, after going round another time, he had to concede that there was no chance Mordecai had gotten into the house.

So where was he, then? Ron pressed his hand to his forehead, exhaling in part relief and part panic, completely unaware of the person creeping up behind him.

"Boo!"

Ron spun around, wand at the ready, other hand grasping the person firmly by the arm and refusing to budge his grasp. He bared his teeth, glaring heatedly into the eyes of... his sister.

Oops.

Ron jumped back, releasing her at once as he saw warning swell in her fiery pupils.

"What the fuck, Ron?" She hissed, rubbing her bicep where he clenched her arm in a vice-like grip. "What are you, a bloody _assassin_?"

His eyes widened in horror. "Oh, I- uh, no, no, I was just..." he trailed off, Ginny raising an eyebrow and clearly still awaiting an answer. "Um, I've just been... more on edge, since what happened at the, uh, Ministry. Last term."

Her expression cleared. "Oh. That explains the... distance." Whatever the hell she meant by that, she seemed unlikely to elaborate, simply staring at him with a quizzical gaze thick with confusion. Her tone, which at her previous statement had flattened, now rose again. "Anyway," she said, clapping him on the back and leading him away from the bathroom. "Whereabouts did you sneak off this time? Which girl were you out meeting?"

Ron spluttered. "I-I wasn't out meeting any girl, I... well, I went to see Bill." And Fleur, he added on silently in his head, but Ginny didn't need to know that.

She frowned. "Really? So you haven't actually dated anyone before? Huh, really..." She shook her head like it was a great shame. "Well, I suppose considering it's _you_ -"

"What's wrong with _me_?" Ron asked, affronted, but again she didn't seem keen to elaborate. Ginny shook her head again, and ruffled his hair. He frowned in annoyance.

She stepped back, smiling sweetly. "Anyway, what did they say?"

Still scowling, Ron began to speak. "So, I said I was sorry, basically, and Bill was thoroughly happy to hear it." His frown lessened. "He admitted it might not have been so wise to put you and Fleur in the same house-" Ginny growled "-and, I also said you would come along next time."

"What?! Why would I want- why would _they_ want me to come too? And you agreed to a next time?" Her face was screwed up in pure disgust, and this time it was Ron who shot her a reproachful look and clapped his hand on her shoulder.

"Now, now, Ginny, be nice. Like Fleur was - she was surprisingly forgiving, you know, especially considering what you said to her." Of course Ron knew why she was being so nice to them; from the pitying looks she often threw his way. She felt sorry for what happened to him.

Fat lot of good a veela's pity would do. It couldn't reverse the curse; nothing good. And Ron was still in the process of coming to terms with that. Honestly, sometimes it felt like he never would. Well, you could hope, right?

Surprisingly, and most fortunately, after Bill had arrived Ron and Fleur didn't have any time to talk more about what he was. But it was clear from her gaze that she definitely wanted more answers, and wouldn't stop until she got them. She had a cold, hungry fire burning in her gaze that made Ron think he would definitely be receiving a letter (or six) in the next few days from her.

"Ron? Ron, hello?" Ginny was waving her hand in front of his face yet again, features twisted with concern this time. She reminded him a lot of Bill, honestly. Ron blinked a few times.

"Sorry, what?"

"You zoned out. Again. In the middle of a conversation."

He gave a goofy grin, rubbing the back of his neck and fingers grazing the scar that lay at the base of it. "Sorry, I know. But basically, you owe me."

"Why?" Suspicion lay thick in her tone.

"'Cause, I got you out of a tight spot. Now you don't look like so much of a- oi! what was that for?" Said Ron, flinching away as she made to kick him.

"I can get myself out of my own messes," she said, crossing her arms reflexsively. "And grow up, I wasn't actually going to kick you. If I were, I would put my boots on first," she smiled sweetly, flexing her bare feet. She wiggled her eyebrows, and Ron snorted.

"Shut up. But anyway, now you look like you just didn't want a new roomate. Like me. I didn't really care about the engagement thing."

"Well, I do. I think Bill could do better."

"Is it because Fleur's a veela?"

Ginny's eyebrows raised. "No," she chided. "It's because of her whole ' _Oh, let me 'elp you Ginevra, surely you know 'ow to do zis already'_ thing, with the weird, floaty voice and smug expression." She pulled a face. "And _Fleur_. It's like a few syllables away from Phlegm. Nasty."

"Better than Ginny," remarked Ron, to which she really did kick him.

He grumbled, rubbing his calf despite the pain already evaporating like water on a hot summer's day. "Ouch. That hurt."

"Yes, well you insulted my name."

"Anyway," said Ron, cutting over her slightly to avoid the beginnings of an argument. "I've booked you in for a meeting with me, Fleur and Bill, in a few days' time. Will you do it?"

He held his breath, (or, he would've done, had he had any) and she eventually rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll do your stupid brunch thing."

"How did you know it was brun-?"

"How could it not be?" Ginny said, bright eyebrows remaining raised and tossing her hair over one shoulder again. She turned and walked back to her room. "See you later - I'm going to figure out what to wear so I can show up dear _Phlegm_."

Her door slammed with a defiant ferosity that would've gotten her killed had her mother not been on the ground floor, and far out of auditory range. Ron sighed, turning back to his own room and thoughts starting to race again.

If Mordecai wasn't in the clearing, and he hadn't infiltrated the Burrow, (and thank Merlin he _hadn't_ ) where was he?

* * *

Thank you for reading! I would like to say sorry for my abhorrent schedule of late - I'm going to try and get it somewhat on track. But I can't make any promises.

-Tea33 :)

Thank you guys for the reviews!


	9. Mordecai

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Nine: Mordecai

(You're gonna want to read the a/n on this one, by the way.)

Walking down the hall of the hospital, clothes rustling slightly as he moved, Mordecai stared at the stark walls surrounding him. It smelt like chemicals - the kind used to keep the place clean, presumably. God, he hated it - the scent always crawled up your nostrils and refused to leave.

Mordecai didn't like hospitals. He just didn't. The pathetic, festering decay of the humans inside irked him to no end. It was another reason why he didn't like people, either - they were just so expendable and fragile. They had no _time_ to make a mark on the world, and they were so bloody oblivious about it.

Normally he avoided any kind of situation where he might have to interact with people, but today was a special case. He was coming to talk to someone with not long left in this world.

It explained the growing smell as he descended down the stairs, closer to the urgent care ward without breaking a sweat. The joys of being a vampire.

But today, he didn't look so much like a bloodthirsty monster. A scruffy youth, perhaps, but with a glamour firmly in place and clean-ish face and hands he didn't get as many dirty looks. Like his filth was contaminating their area, which was what he had become accustomed to whenever he went down the street and saw somebody. Usually before he slit their wrists and bled them to within an inch of death.

They... _usually_ survived.

His hair was devoid of leaves and its usual grime, so it hung between his chin and shoulders in a clump of waves. He said clump because, well, he wasn't going to go as far as _brush_ it. What was the fucking point? It was harder to care about your appearance when you have forever. His boots crunched on the floor, squeaking slightly from the recent head-to-toe thorough scourgify, which was how he ended up looking slightly redeemable.

The kid would be fine for an afternoon. Just sticking inside, he had remarked off-handedly when Mordecai asked. The Burrow wasn't exactly lacking in protection, either, so somebody else attacking on the one day he wasn't there was unlikely.

Besides, Ron was practically unbreakable now. Almost, apart from the sun. But if he stayed inside there would be no danger, especially since the veela had left last night. Mordecai almost congratulated the kid on managing to shove her out. She looked pretty stubborn, not to mention clever. That was precisely why it was dangerous for her to stick around a new vampire adjusting to everything.

Mordecai was just glad she left before she started suspecting anything (because she would eventually he wasn't stupid) and the whole plan went to shit. The absolutely insane plan Mordecai couldn't believe he agreed to.

But hey, the money had been _really_ good. And he hadn't taken a job in years. It was getting too fucking boring.

Mordecai finally reached the correct ward, the name which he had pulled out of the woman running the front desk's head. The Honeysuckle Ward. Bloody stupid name that Mordecai grimaced at every time he thought of it. The wards should just be numbers - people were just going to end up dying there anyway, what was the difference if it had a pretty name or not?

He began looking inside rooms at random. One was empty, one had a family crying beside another empty bed, another had an old woman sat beside who he presumed to be her companion tucked up in the bed, looking distinctly asleep. Too asleep, really, but the woman holding his hand didn't need to know that. He moved on.

Nobody heard or saw him. He was like a shadow - until he came across a room with a frail old woman lain underneath the sheets, her face as lined as the crumpled curtains above her bed and silvery ringlets falling past her chest. From her closed eyelids, he thought she was asleep, but as soon as he crossed the threshold of the room her eyes flicked open.

They were dark and cold, and they bore into his eyes like hot knives. He stared back, until the corners of her mouth tugged downwards slightly into a soft grimace.

"Who are you?" She said, voice smooth and low. He took another step closer.

"A visitor."

"Do I know who you are, then? An awful lot of people visit, but I can never seem to... remember them." Her eyebrows creased, her forehead knotting slightly. She shifted herself up her pillows with a heave that took what little strength remained in her body and left her flustered and heart pumping rapidly. It rattled like a bird shook the bars in a cage. She peered at him again, crows feet in the corner of her eyes crumpling together. "But you _do_ look rather familiar. Tell me, what's your name?"

Mordecai stood there, frozen, and said nothing.

The memories were too much.

* * *

"But _Pa_ , I can't!" He said indignantly, glaring at the crossbow in his hands and hating it, despising the thing for being in his grasp. "I can't aim it right, and they're too fast!"

Robert reached down for his son, mussing his curly crop of dark brown hair as he took the weapon off him and smiled. "Look," he said, bending down to his level and holding it so they could both see it pointing at the rabbit nearby. "You have to make sure you line it _all_ up, Michael, and then pull the trigger like...this." He presses down, and the arrow springs free, skewering the rabbit instantly against the tree.

Michael burst into tears.

* * *

Mordecai narrowed his eyes, dark pupils measuring up the old woman's. He glanced once at the bleeping machine off to the side, quietly pulsating in the background and the tubes pushed into the woman's forearm. She didn't miss his stare and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm on this ward for a reason."

He said nothing.

"I'm going to die."

He doesn't bother to correct or try and console her - she looks perfectly resigned to her fate.

Mordecai can respect that.

* * *

"Allie, Allie!" The small girl with dark hair cascading down her back in a long wave drops her pencil and pushes her sketch to the side to see her brother running into the room. There's mud on his knees and tears on his face, so she goes and stands beside him.

"What is it, Mikey?"

"Pa killed a rabbit," says Michael, scandalised. Alice's eyes widen.

" _Really?_ Did he let you help?" Her brother frowns; his frown and her eager demeanour don't match.

"You shouldn't kill things, Allie."

"But rabbits don't matter."

"Yes they do!" Michael protests, his lower lip sticking out from defiance and beginning to tremble. "R-rabbits are too cute to kill. I didn't like it."

She shakes her head at him off-handedly. "They're just rabbits, Michael. You should grow up."

"Pa's always saying that, too," he mumbles, and she reaches out for him, joining their hands and pulling him over to the spread of crayons and paper on the rug.

"But look, Mikey, I did drawings. Of _him_."

The boy's mouth falls open in a perfect 'O', his eyebrows raising as he grabs for the paper. "Oh _wow_ , Allie, these are really good!"

She nods smugly. "I know. It took me all morning."

"Must've been better than hunting."

Alice sighs. "No, it wasn't. Maybe Pa'll let me come along next time too."

"You're too little."

"Am not! I'm much more mature than you are."

Michael squints. "What's mature mean?"

Alice rolls her eyes and points to the drawing. "It doesn't matter, but doesn't it look really good?"

"Yeah! You got him _exactly_ right! Gosh, Allie, you're such a good draw-er," he says, eyes shining with pride.

"That's what I thought too!" Alice blurts enthusiastically, and hugs him. She wraps her arms around him and squeezes her eyes shut as the two cling to each other.

A knock at the door. A man with a broad jaw, dark brown eyes and wavy hair stands by the door. "What's all this?" he says, picking his way through the room to his two children. Alice pulls back and holds up the picture happily, unaware of the way her father's eyes zero in on the figure drawn in blocky brown, black and red wax and he swallows. He takes it off her.

"What's this, lovie? What've you drawn?"

She beams proudly, and Michael does the same. "It's the man we saw around the edge of the woods yesterday!" He almost shouts, brown eyes lighting up with excitement. "I tried to draw him, but I kept going wrong," he says, pointing to the pile of crumpled paper in the corner beside the bed. "Allie's was much better."

He swallows, voice raspy. Robert's face is suddenly ashen."Do you... do you mind if I keep this? I want- I need to show it to someone. That all right?"

Alice nods solemnly. "Yes. It's okay, Pa - I can always draw him again. I remember him good." Her dark eyes the colour of mahogany light up with mischief, and her brother's do the same. Robert shakes his head.

"No love; you can't draw the man again, okay? He's- he's not _good_."

Alice nods, her dark eyes now inquisitive. "Why? What did he do? Did he... kill someone?" She whsipers almost daringly.

Robert kneels down on one knee, rough hands on her shoulders and thick arms coiled with muscle tensing. He uses one hand to brush his beard and over his crop of brown, wavy hair before nodding shortly. "Yes. And not just one person - _lots_ of people, we think. Me and your uncle are trying to find him so we can... make him stop." Alice furrows her brow in solemn understanding, and Robert sighs. Now if only Mike were more like his sister.

Tears are falling down his face quickly, his eyes glistening and gulping almost hysterically. His sister has arm wrapped around his, and buries into his shoulder. Robert opens his arms. "Come here, Michael." He embraces his son so Michael starts shuddering uncontrollably into his shoulder instead.

"I-I'm sorry, P-Pa, I- we didn't know," he sniffs between gulps. "I pr-promise we wouldn't have drawn him if we knew-"

"I still would've," said Alice boldly. "If he's bad then pictures help to catch him. Right, Papa?"

Robert looks proud then, grinning widely at her and letting his arms fall from their embrace around Michael. "Good girl. I tell you what," he said, lowering his voice. "Next time I go hunting, you can tag along, okay?"

"Yes!" She jumps excitedly, clapping her hands together. "Me and Mikey can hunt rabbits!"

"I don't like hunting," Michael said quietly into his father's shoulder.

She looks hesistant. "Pa?"

Her father, now standing, looks down at her as she fiddles with her grey pinafore. "Yes, Alice?"

"Is killing things bad?" Alice asks, and Robert lets his gaze hover over his son for a minute before turning back to her.

"Rabbits are okay, and some other things... but not people. People who hurt other people need to be stopped, like this man," says Robert, tapping the drawing. "When did you see him last?"

"Yesterday. Outside the gates." Supplies Michael, now calmed down enough to add to the conversation. His eyes are still rimmed with red.

"Thank you, Michael." He stands up, releasing the embrace on his son and looking at the paper in his hand again. It's a man with thick, dark brown hair like mud, his arms and face left uncoloured with his clothes an earthy reddish brown. His eyes, however, are the most striking part of the drawing - cold and hungry even in crayon. Robert glares at it.

"Are you angry at us, Pa?" says Alice tentatively. He shakes his head.

"Of course not love - you've helped me and your uncle out a lot."

"Pa... are you going to hunt him now?"

He shakes his head. "No, lovie. We're just going to make him go away."

"Can I come too?"

"No. You're too young."

"That's not fair!"

"I know, I know, I said the same thing to my pa when I was younger," Robert smiles, thinking back on old memories. This used to be his old room too, the dull patterned wallpaper beginning to fade even then. This house is even older than his father's father, and his father too, probably. "But you can't go. Maybe in a few years."

"Is Michael allowed to go?"

"No, he's not."

The boy with dark curls like his sister ducks his head up, tear tracks still clear on his face. "I don't want to go," he mumbles quietly. "Take Allie hunting instead of me. Don't want to k-kill any rabbits."

The little girl clasps her hands together excitedly. "Oh, I'll go! I really want to! I know- I know that Michael doesn't want to, but I do!"

"Yes; you can come too. Michael is still going to go hunting as well," says Robert, gripping his son's shoulder and his tone making it clear he has no say in the matter.

"Why? He cried!"

"Did not," said Michael fiercely, scrubbing away his tears roughly.

Alice tangles her fingers with his. "It's okay, Mikey. I cry too sometimes. But if you don't like it, don't go."

"No." Their father shakes his head, jaw set. "You both have to learn how to hunt.

"Why, Pa?" Michael stares up at his father with wide eyes.

His eyebrows furrow and gaze hardens. "You'll find out when you're older."

* * *

"Don't look so sullen," says the woman. "Death isn't something you should be afraid of. It gets us all in the end."

His expression shifts briefly. "That's not what I'm sullen about."

She turns her head to the side, and peers at him owlishly. "Then what?"

* * *

"Come on love, position it, there you go-! Yes!" Alice drops the crossbow, and her father pulls her into a hug. Michael frowns from the tree he's sitting in.

Since Alice joined the hunting pratice him and his father went on every couple of weeks, Michael slowly become less and less of a focus for his father - which he's not complaining about. Over the years he's been able to sneak a book outside with him and every morning he's dragged out to the forest he'll find a quiet place to sit and wile away the hours. He doesn't mind so much - he's not a fan of the crossbow and the rabbits they use it on. It might make him soft, but nobody particularly minds. Alice is good enough for the both of them.

He's never liked it. Not when he was seven and his father took him out for the first time, and not ten years later either. Michael sometimes wondered what his mother would think of it all, whether she'd be on his father's side, or his.

But she was dead. The last time he had seen her, she was heavily pregnant with Alice and being ushered into her room by the nurse and his father.

When he came out again, it was with a drawn, tight expression, eyes weary and holding his new sister. His mother never reappeared after that, despite how often he asked his father about when mother was coming back. She smelt of lavender and had tight, black curls that always tickled whenever he hugged her. Her name was Ellen, but that Michael only knew that from the tombstone at the bottom of the garden.

Then one day it hit him. Why mother had left Michael and Robert and Alice even though she used to cry for her day and night. Why Papa didn't like talking about her, and why the only trace of her left was a crumbling grey monument with her name on at the bottom of the garden, near the well she had always liked so much.

He never asked again.

Alice skips over to the rabbit, and pulls out the rabbit with a sharp tug. It's blood stained and covered in dirt, but she wipes it off discreetly on a rag and stows it away in her bag again, before sticking the arrow back in the case slung over her back. Robert looks exceedingly proud of her; Michael doesn't know if he's ever looked at him that way.

Michael and Alice were still close, despite their differences on the hunting. They look almost identical too: dark eyes, dark hair, sharp features. Almost exactly the same height despite the age gap of nearly two years.

The closest they had come to school was when Michael turned eleven; he got a strange letter from a school that his father threw in the fire, and never heard about again. Alice got the same one when she turned eleven, too. They had both theorised what it meant, but accepted that their father knew what was best for them.

The entire affair was ignored and reading, writing and basic arithmatic lessons from their father went on as per usual. If he was in a good mood, they'd do some history too.

They had an uncle, but he died when he was fighting in the war. He was very brave, his father had said. He fought in the trenches, and he died there a few months after he was called away.

There was no funeral. His uncle Edward and his father had been close, but even still, there had been no funeral.

And Michael never asked about it.

There was a rule, really, in the household - no questions. Unless his father asked, if something didn't make sense to Michael, if he couldn't figure out why his father had done something, he couldn't ask. It would only anger his father and _nobody_ wanted that.

So, Michael never asked where his mother went, why nobody talked about uncle Edward, why he had never met his grandparents, why he wasn't allowed to go to school. Why he was only ever allowed in the forest, where the trees and the animals moved on their own and spoke to him. Why his father didn't have a job, but they were wealthy. Why there was blood on the carpet one morning. Why he could have sworn he heard screams coming from the basement one night.

Him and Alice both agreed something wasn't right.

But they never asked _what_.

* * *

"Do you remember the house in the countryside? The one with the well in the bottom of the garden, and the huge forest surrounding it, with the stream and the rabbits?"

She frowns, deep in thought. "Why, yes, I lived there years ago."

Mordecai nods. "Why did you leave?" His dark eyes grow even darker, and he can see in the old woman's eyes the shadows reflecting. Her expression hardens at once.

"What are you?" The old woman sat up, jaw tensing.

Mordecai dropped the glamour and let his irises darken to blood red, and when he spoke, it was with sharp teeth. "I think you know."

She frowned even harder. "Yes, I do, _vampire_. Now, what do you want with me?" She laughed. "I'm a defenceless little old lady on her deathbed. My blood won't satisfy you, and you know it. What do you want from me?"

* * *

The man that Michael and Alice saw hanging around the trees seemed to be there rather frequently, and by the time they realised that wasn't normal, it was too late. When they were younger they had crowed at him and hooted and squawked like the noisy children they were, and the shadow had slowly drawn closer. Closer, and closer, and closer, until they could see his face. Never past the outer hedge though, and they never actually _saw_ him moving.

He just inched forward, day after day. But they weren't scared. He had dark, greasy hair, even darker eyes, and a muddy outfit. Michael wondered if he was homeless.

They drew so many pictures of him Michael lost count, and Alice could just about draw him anywhere she had memorised him so well. She was a more talented artist than him. They even began to create a story for him, half convinced that after standing in the trees for so long that he wasn't even _real_.

He was a ghost, Alice said. Apparently he wasn't the first she had encountered. But when they tried to talk to him, he would never be there. Or he would just stare, like they hadn't said anything. It was eerie.

They should have told their father. But they didn't, because Robert didn't like questions. Whenever they asked about something strange he would get so angry, shouting and shouting and throwing things. It was lucky they had no neighbours. Only acres and acres of forest surrounding them, which their father said they were fortunate to have. and Michael was lucky to have a sister, because when he was younger his father's sister had died from disease before the age of four. She was another person they weren't allowed to talk about.

Michael had never been anywhere else. And he didn't want to - he didn't want to go anywhere but the forest, where it was peaceful and the air hummed with something altogether unaturally natural. Only Alice knew what he meant - she could feel the same thing.

"Wouldn't it be nice, though, Mike," she said, laying with her back pressed into the leaves.

He pushed his hair out of the way, which was getting rather long and tucked it to one side. "What?"

"To get out of here." She hummed contentedly. "Where the trees sing even more, and the animals too. Wouldn't it be nice?"

He snorted. "Allie, there isn't a place like that that exists."

"Then what about what we feel?"

"We're just weird, Al. Nothing else to it."

She turned on her side, dark brown fringe flopping and sticking up even more. "But I still want to leave here. Even if everything else is dead compared to it."

"What about Mordecai? Are we going to leave him behind?"

Alice stared at the shadow in the hedges opposite fondly like he could hear them. "We'll come back, don't worry. We won't leave you, Mordecai."

A few years ago, when Alice had been flipping through one of her books, she found the name. It fit perfectly. And so, they called their shadowy ghost man in the garden, Mordecai.

When they were seven, Mordecai had lived in a cottage near the riverbed and had two children called Alex and Mariam. And when Alex and Mariam were older, they were going to marry Alice and Michael and live in the big house together so their children could play in the forest and feel it's magic, too.

Their father was never mentioned.

When Michael was fourteen, Mordecai still lived in the cottage with his two children, but he occasionally went to India too, where Alice had heard from a book in the library that there were spices and elephants and everything was different. Of course a mistress was added a few years later. Several, in fact.

Their father never knew about Mordecai and his two children and five mistresses in India, because if he did, Michael knew it would be him and Alice that ended up inside that basement.

So they went on making up their little stories about the shadow that never moved in the light, and told nobody. It was peaceful.

Alice was sixteen, and Michael nearly eighteen their father asked them to meet in the drawing room, closing the doors and with his jaw clensed so hard Michael thought he would break it. Alice would always do the same thing when she felt tense.

"Father, what is it?"

"Wait a minute love, I just have to check the doors one last time," he said in response to Alice's question, running a hand over the wood and closing his eyes. After a minute or two he moved away, apparently satisfied.

"What is it?" Now Michael was on edge. He exchanged a glance with sister, and squeezed her palm before turning back to his father, the dark wood of his eyes set.

He sat down on the armchair opposite to the sofa they shared. All of the furniture was a soft grey; something their mother had chosen. That was probably the most Michael knew about his mother.

Robert began to speak. "I have to tell you something - something that will most certainly change your lives, and not for the better."

"What? What is it?" Alice's tone was clipped and unforgiving, and Robert took it as a sign to hurry up.

"Vampires. They exist. And, we have to fight them."

* * *

It wasn't a surprise. They made sure they understood everything they told him, and that night Alice crept into Michael's room like they did at least once a week. She sat on top of his bed, where he was sat underneath the sheets.

"I _knew_ there was something else out there," she said almost excitedly.

Michael brushed the sleep out of his eyes. "Yeah, but vampires? Like the ones from all those books you read?"

"And you," she reminded him tersely. And it was true.

"Even still, _vampires._ Like they drink your blood, and hiss and stuff," said Michael, baring his teeth at her and growling. Alice snickered.

"At least we have these to defend ourselves," she said, tapping the knife in her hand.

They were runed. Runes were things too, apparently. Which meant magic was too. It was all a lot to take in, but Michael always knew something wasn't right... this explained everything. His own weapon was stowed underneath his pillow since his father said they could attack at any time.

It could slow down a vampire, but not kill it. It would hurt more than a normal knife, but only the sunlight could finish them off properly. Or chopping them up and burning the body.

They were monsters. Vampires weren't people; they were souless creatures feeding off all that was good in this world like parasites. That was what their father had said.

"You have to be careful, kids." He had said, pulling them into the first hug in years.

Michael exchanged a wary look with his sister.

* * *

"I said, what do you want with me, demon?" The old woman reached under bed where she pulled out a weapon, a dagger, about as long as her forearm. Her trembling arm was steady as she pointed it at him.

Mordecai raised an eyebrow, watching the silver point as it caught in the light. "Aren't you concerned about someone looking in and seeing?"

"No. I'm _saving_ this earth, scrubbing it of filth like you," she said resolutely, dark eyes hardened like hazelnuts.

* * *

Michael liked the Autumn. Conkers fell from the trees, the nights grew longer, and it remained pleasantly warm with a cool breeze for at least a few weeks. So did Alice.

They found out why their father made them hunt and practise with crossbows and daggers - it was all to benefit them now. They added to Mordecai's character by making him a vampire, too. It fit - he always stayed in the shadows. He never moved, he never spoke, so he was dead. He was dirty and stiff and killed people. He was definitely a vampire.

Mordecai never moved, until one night, he did.

Mordecai came to life.

Michael was wandering the halls. He couldn't sleep; it was a habit of his to go for a walk when the nights stretched out in front of him like endless road. He glanced out of the window, to a spot of shade under a branch of leaves that Mordecai often inhabited. He was there, but, almost like he could sense Michael was looking at him, he shifted slightly.

Michael thought he had imagined it. He pressed his face up to the glass, eyes scanning the darkness frantically.

Mordecai turned his head like a shadowy statue, eyes burning bright like torches, and smiled.

* * *

Mordecai moved even closer, so that the blade pushed up against his throat. It burned, oh Christ, it burned, but he had to hold still

The woman's eyes widened in understanding.

"You must be here for revenge. I've hunted you for years. I've killed... so many of you." She closed her eyes, her breath sagging and her chest heaving to keep her resolve. Her hand falls. "Just make it quick.

He swallows as soon as the blade leaves his throat.

"But it's bad to kill, Alice," says Mordecai softly.

* * *

Michael yells, his father thundering out of his room and down the hall with a bottle of something in his hand and still fully clothed. He looks ready to kill his son until he looks out of the window, at the unnatural beast creeping closer and closer to their home.

No, it's not creeping - Mordecai was _walking_. Swiftly striding across the grounds with a purpose right to their front door.

The bottle smashes to the ground.

Behind him, Alice comes running, crossbow and dagger in hand. She reaches into her bag and hands one to Michael, too, who turns over the weapons in his hands. His father runs back to his room to fetch his own things, all the while murmuring, "Damn it, God damn it, I forgot... the _one night_ I forget to rune the grounds, and _this_ happens... In all the years I've lived here..."

Michael and Alice both know it's too late to seal the doors. They don't know how to draw runes. Their father never taught them in time.

And now, they're going to have to fight.

* * *

Her eyes widened. "What... what did you say?"

"It's bad to kill, Alice," repeats Mordecai sharply.

"That's not my name."

"Well, it sure as hell isn't Evie, is it, but that's what you've been going by all these years."

She looks absolutely terrified. "It- It's _you,_ isn't it? But... how are you alive? I _killed you_ , I know I did!"

* * *

It's like a shadow descending upon the house. Michael and Alice's father tell them to wait in his room, the room Michael saw his mother disappear in and never leave, the forbidden place in the house. They slip underneath the bed, and hide there, crossbows and daggers at the ready.

It's the only thing they have to defend themselves with tonight, but it won't be enough. Alice knows it, and Michael knows it; two inexperienced kids stumbling through the world of vampire hunting without knowing what the hell they're doing.

That's why they never went out at night, why their father never went out late; because Mordecai (and more, plenty more, too many to keep up with) were stood watching, waiting for the moment they slipped up. Their father was growing older, wearier; they could see it with the grey that streaked his hair and his joints he constantly complained about aching. He had told them when he thought they would be ready to take over the family business.

That was where the money came from. Someone in the village had a problem with a vampire (and Michael found out they were quite common in this area), then they would pay his father to deal with them.

It was in their blood, and it was in their house. Michael finally went down into the basement and saw the runed shackles on the wall, the windows, the weapons. He told them about the strange letters they weren't allowed to read. It was invitations to a magic school, which his father denied and explained their situation. How integral it was that Alice and Michael continued their duties to the family, the business that Robert's father, Abraham, had begun.

They had lost him to the vampires, and most of the family too. It was just Robert, Alice and Michael left.

"We're Van Helsings; it's what we do," Robert had said, leaning against the doorway of the basement and grinning ruggedly at his son.

It was clear that the cause was one to die for.

* * *

Alice grips Michael's hand hard, fingers clammy and slipping over the handle of her weapons. They hear a crash, a scream from downstairs, and then nothing.

Michael screws his face up in agony. They're going to die, they're going to die, and there's nothing he can do. The silence echoing around the house is deafening, the only thing punctuating the empty air being the rapid heartbeat of Michael, like a rabbit's.

He knows what if feels like now. To be hunted. He knew it would get him one day - and judging by his sister's expression, she's thinking the same thing.

How could they have thought of him as a friend, a spirit watching over them?

They crafted a family for Mordecai, a sweet cottage by the river and two adoring children.

The reality that he's a bloodthirsty monster waiting for the moment

Footsteps. Uncaring, fast, steady. They slip across the landing, pausing at the window, and continue on. Closer to his father's room. The one his mother died in, and the one they were going to die in too.

He knows it's not his father.

Someone with dark, patched, dusty trousers enters the room. They have no shoes; only a thick coating of mud to cover their feet, and they stop at the door. Michael covers his hand with his mouth and bites down hard, to settle his nerves and stop himself from screaming out.

He steadies his crossbow, and beside him, Alice does the same. The feet move closer, mud streaking the carpet. Michael feels like he'd going to explode if he doesn't do something, _say_ something, fire his weapon. But it won't do anything, because his head is telling him he's going to die no matter how many arrows he puts into the demon's heart.

A single thought presents itself to Michael as he's flat on the ground beside his sister.

He should get up, drive the dagger into Mordecai's heart. Watch the shadow crumple to the floor, and strap him to the tree at the front of the house. Wait for the sun to come up. Watch Mordecai _dissolve_.

And even if he fails, maybe he can give Alice a headstart on escaping.

His sister means everything to him.

She always did.

Ignoring the silent protests of a frantic Alice beside him, Michael rolls out from underneath the bed, dagger in hand, and shifts quickly to his feet. He pulls back the weapon in his hand, sees red eyes, impossibly sharp teeth, and lunges.

* * *

"No... it can't be you... _Mordecai_... I killed you."

"Yes, you did."

"I watched you burn."

"You did."

The realisation comes over her like a terrible, crashing wave of destruction, and the old woman's face crumples like she's in immense pain.

* * *

He fails.

The vampire, Mordecai, as they called him as naive children, caught Michael's arm halfway and bent it back with an ear-splitting crunch. He cried out, long enough for the vampire to grab him by the neck and tear into his veins, ripping and draining like his life depended on it. When the vampire pulls away, Michael is far too disoriented to do much more than taste the blood suddenly on his tongue, slipping down his neck, and Alice, screeching with rage and running at Mordecai with her dagger tightly in her hand and pointed right at his head.

Michael slumped to the floor, and moved no more.

* * *

Hours, days, weeks later, he woke up. Without time or date he was lost, a crumpled pile on the floor soaked in blood. He coughed and choked and rasped, scrabbling at his throat to find it patched over with skin.

His thoughts are jumbled and incomprehensible and without direction. All that matters is the thing making his throat so bloody dry... the thing he doesn't know how he _lived_ without before. The thing waiting for him downstairs...

There's a body, still relatively fresh slumped on the carpet in the dining room. Eyes glazed, crossbow abandoned.

Michael doesn't even _hesitate_.

* * *

 _Michael_?"

Michael thought he would feel less empty, if he told her. If he got to talk to his sister again. But sitting here, still seventeen, almost eighteen and her nearly in her nineties... it's not right. It's not natural.

"Yes."

Tears leak from her eyes, slipping like crystal droplets into her lap. She doesn't care - Alice reaches out for her brother, and he doesn't move. The tears increase.

"I," she sobs. "...I thought you were _dead_ -"

"I am, Allie." Says Michael. "I'm dead. Have been since that night you killed Mordecai."

" _We_ killed Mordecai," she corrects him. "If you hadn't distracted him, I could've never gotten past him. Only one person died that night, rather than two."

"What about Pa?" The old name slips out before he can stop it - they haven't called him that since they were young. He bows his head in shame, and is surprised when she reaches out a hand to tilt his head back up.

"I had a proper funeral. For you, too." She sniffs. "Where did you go, Mikey?"

He doesn't answer her question."I... drained him, you know," says Michael. "Pa. I drank his blood." His sister doesn't look surprised.

"I didn't know," she said quietly. "When I left, I left for good."

"I'm sorry."

Alice doesn't respond.

* * *

He comes to later on, the blood of his father wet on his lips. Still Michael doesn't hesistate to slip his tongue over it, drawing in the moisture and ravishing it. It's the best thing he's ever had.

When he gets up, his head is clear. His eyesight is better than ever and he feels stronger, healthier. Michael can't help the smile that spreads across his lips as he walks to the bathroom that quickly slides off his face when he looks in the mirror.

And sees nothing staring back at him.

Michael gasps, trying to draw in breath but his chest is so constricted he can hardly move. It's all too much - oh _God,_ the body he drained... it couldn't be... but glancing behind him he sees that it is his father lying pale and cold in the living room.

He's a vampire. And there's nothing he can do about it, unless he... Michael looks toward the glimmer of light leaking from a nearby window (far away from him, of course) and shudders. If he went outside now, he would burn, he knows that.

But wouldn't that be for the best? One less demon to soil the world?

But like how he refused to shoot the rabbit when he was younger, he can't do it. He jumped in front of Mordecai to save Alice, but.. she's safe now.

Michael walks as close as he can to the front door, wide open, and spots the pile of ash beside a tree, the sunlight beating down on it like an anvil.

He never wants to see her again as long as he lives, which now seems like... eternity.

He's not _Michael_ anymore... he's more like... _Mordecai_.

He's more like that monster than a man.

* * *

"Why did you come back, Michael?"

"I go by Mordecai now."

"Right." He has a feeling she knows exactly why he changed his name; nothing felt the same. It was impossible to be Michael Van Helsing and a bloodthirsty vampire, so he traded his name for a different one. One already tainted. One that could remind him why he shouldn't seek out his sister and see her again, no matter how many years had passed by.

Well, his patience had broken.

Her face suddenly scrunches up, eyebrows drawn together and lips pursed. More tears leak from her eyes. "I... I don't know what to say."

"Can you forgive me?" The words slip out, fast and with a kind of urgency he hasn't spoken with in years. "I- I couldn't take it anymore, not... I wanted to see you, one last time," he says thinly. "Can you- can you ever forgive me?"

She fiddles with a ring on her finger, old and tainted but still valuable. "I really don't know, Michael. I don't care what you're called now, but you'll always be Michael to me," she adds.

"So... can- can- we pretend nothing changed?" He doesn't know where all this _emotion_ is coming from, but now it's pouring from him in agonising waves and he can't stop it.

She looks at him solemnly. "No."

"But, Allie, I'm still the same-"

"No, you're not. Have you killed people?"

A hollow crevice begins to form in the middle of his chest, but he swallows and goes on. "Yes, I have."

"How many?"

"I- I don't know," he chokes. "I lost count. I kill for other people; if the price is right, I'll do whatever. I _have done_ whatever."

Her face screws up again, and she leans forward, one withered hand landing on his. "Oh, _Mikey._ "

Her voice is broken and hoarse, but it's what he's been craving for years. Without waiting for another second he leans in, enveloping her in a tight and messy embrace.

It probably hurts, what with all the extra strength he has and what little strength she does, but Alice says nothing. She simply rests her chin on his shoulder, and lets him shudder into her shoulder like her brother did all those years ago when Michael was upset about hunting the rabbits.

* * *

"I can do spells," He says a short while later. The conversation judders to a halt, Alice watching in awe as he picks up the empty glass of water beside her bed and whispers aguamenti, moving his hand and watching as water fills it up.

"That magic school - I studied all the books in it so I could catch up. I'm like a proper wizard now."

Alice watches him with a smile, remembering the enthusiasm in which he used to talk about his passions when he was younger, and smiles even wider.

She has a feeling he hasn't talked to anyone for a while, so lets him go on. And then she goes on. And together, they catch up on the eighty odd years they missed of each other's lives.

* * *

Mordecai (or Michael) walks out of the room feeling strangely uplifted. It felt good to finally be able to talk to someone properly, and his _sister_ too. He promised to visit next week, and the week after, and the week after that.

He learns that Alice moved away, to London, where she got a job as a nurse. She married a man named Adam Fowler, and together they had three children. One's a lawyer in America, one stayed in London as a journalist and parent of one, and the other went to live in Wales with his boyfriend and dogs and children. She hasn't heard from them in a while, but they all promised to call by the end of the month.

She even has a great grandchild.

Everything turned out fine for Alice, or Evie, as she goes by now. Her husband knows her past (with some obvious gaps) and that she changed her name, but not much else. Adam died six years ago. She still misses him, but knows it's not long before she sees him again and that's enough to soothe her.

Mordecai tries to ignore that part. He also apologises for leaving and never coming back, all the terrible things he's done. They talk about that second war, briefly touched on uncle Edward.

Mordecai tells her about magic, and although she's sad to have missed it, she has no regrets. He tells her about Voldemort, and the Boy Who Lived, and Hogwarts. Grindelwald, too. How much she'd enjoy Diagon Alley, and the Ministry.

She tells him she still hunted some vampires even after that encounter at their house in Hartford; even with all the trauma she still found life a little boring sometimes.

Alice says she misses him. Mordecai says it back, because it's true. He has never been as close to anyone as he has his sister, his only childhood friend apart from the shadow that turned out to be their downfall.

She's disappointed in him for turning the boy. But she knows he can't take it back, no matter how much he wants to. She only tells him to stop being such a prat and actually try and help him. And to stop taking jobs as a vampire hitman.

He agrees. He's done too much.

He doesn't know if he'll actually break the pattern, though.

Alice shows him pictures of her children and their families. He realises they look exactly like them when they were younger.

They both have regrets, Mordecai more than Alice. But it's worth it for a moment to become Michael again, talking to his sister excitedly like they're both kids lounging beside tree trunks again, with the magical forest and animals to keep them happy.

Mordecai leaves happy, for the first time in years.

And, when he returns the next week, he finds her bed empty.

The glass is still full.

He holds the best bloody funeral he can for her, the gravestone beside his mother's, now so deteriorated with age that you can hardly make out the name anymore. His father's stands nearby.

Mordecai sits and watches the forest, his vision of the three granite headstones wavering as the night wears on.

* * *

Okay, I did say you had to read this part, so here we go:

First of all, I damn well know this isn't essential, and it might not be to anyone's tastes. But, I really enjoyed writing it and after much contemplation decided to post it. If you absolutely hate this chapter and wish it didn't exist, okay. (Bit of an extreme reaction, but all right.)

Basically, I wanted to write something, and I did. Sorry if you hate it.

Also the Van-Helsing thing - I saw an opportunity, and I took it. That's about it for that storyline. This chapter isn't completely useless though, since of it will become relevant in later chapters, so... this might be handy to read. Just saying.

A normal chapter going back to Ron's pov will be coming out soon. Hope you enjoyed reading! (Or not, I dunno.)

Thanks for showing support!

-Tea33 :)


	10. Letters

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Ten: Letters

"Where did you go? Yesterday?" Said Ron.

Last night, he had gone to the forest, the edge of the clearing where Mordecai would 'teach' him things, and just like earlier on in the afternoon it had been completely empty. Then, he had gone home, and stayed up all night thinking up different scenarios where Mordecai burst in and slit all of their throats in their sleep.

You could never be too careful. And, from having experienced it himself, he knew how easy it was to kill someone.

No... not easy, and not fast - in his memories it dragged on for eternity, but in the moment, she was gone in the blink of an eye. She was still plastered on the back of his eyelids though, revealing herself whenever Ron closed his eyes.

Ron just didn't want to make it easy for Mordecai. But here he was, back again.

Ron had decided to bring up it up when they had a break mid-way through duelling practice.

Mordecai straightened up, the expression on his face oddly unreadable. "I went to visit someone."

"Oh." Ron frowned. Questions beginning to stream through his head. Who? Why? Where? Did he hurt them?

"It won't happen again. They're dead."

Well. It seemed Ron's fear that he would attack the Burrow wasn't so unjustified. Was the kill necessary? Or just because he could?

Did he enjoy it?

Regardless, the next time he had to get blood, he vowed, he wouldn't fuck it up. Not again. He didn't want his mistakes to cost another life.

Merlin, what had his life become?

Glancing at Ron, Mordecai's eyes bore into his. "Why were you out?"

"Am... I not allowed to be?"

He shrugged. "Do whatever you want - you're practically indestrucable. Just don't make it known what you are, so comply with those rules I told you."

A slim beam of pale moonlight cut across Mordecai's cheeks, lighting up the plastic-like smooth skin and glittering red eyes, dark like the surrounding forest. Ron shivered to think he looked like that too, his freckles standing out starkly on his cheeks. It was only the glamour that softened his face enough for it to pass off as human, forcing the mirrors to lie and pulling thick wool over his family's eyes. Only Fleur, practically a stranger, had been able to see through. Ron wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about that.

Ron nodded.

"Good," he replied quickly, tone bored. "Now, why did you leave the wards?"

"I went for a walk."

"Why?"

"Because I felt too cooped up in the house."

"Despite the fact you come and meet me in the woods every night."  
Ron paused. "I wouldn't exactly call this an exciting outing."

He sniffed. "Fair enough." And then said, "Duel?"

As per usual, Ron had less than half a second before Mordecai attempted to hex his nose off.

* * *

Five in the morning. Ron rubbed his eye, the usual sting of fatigue missing from the motion; pulling an all-nighter was not supposed to be this easy. Could you call it an all-nighter when you never slept?

And... why was he looking at the clock again? Oh, yeah, the letter: some owl had tapped at his window a few minutes ago, tucking the letter beneath the window latch from its beak and flying off before he could even try and communicate with the creature.

Its grey fur had a silvery sheen in the moonlight, and its piercing eyes had reminded him of crystals. Quite a striking, unusual owl, and one Ron had never seen in his life. If he had, he would most definitely had remembered it.

His memory was sharper, now, but whether it was from his new form or the Occlumency Ron wasn't sure.

Brushing aside his idle thoughts, Ron turned over the thin letter in his hand, smooth, creamy parchment slipping across his hands. The smell that wafted away from it was familiar, but distantly so. Rows upon rows of tightly curled ink swept across the page.

His eyes widened as they roved along the letter, fear encroaching the pale blue that still glimmered there (unnaturally, of course, thanks to a glamour). _Fleur... she had finally written..._

The letter was concise, and Ron read the entire thing in a matter of minutes, unable to proceed with anything else until he had.

Oh Merlin. Fleur wanted to meet again, this time in some park a short while away from the Lonely Crescent (alone) so they could continue the conversation she said was ended 'prematurely' when Bill arrived.

Ron thought it ended at exactly the right point. He still didn't have a clue how much to tell her, whether Mordecai would ever figure this out, if he would kill him if he did (that wasn't much of a question, more of a guarantee) and most of all, whether Fleur was willing to keep his secret.

He wanted to believe that she would. But, he couldn't be entirely sure.

His excuse this time was that again, he had gone for a walk, but it didn't wipe the shit-eating grin off Ginny's face when she saw him leave.

Idiot. But, her presumption that he was off meeting a girl (and then going off to a dark alley or something equally Ginny's mind could conjure) was good cover. He kept the letter tucked safely in his pocket, where it had been ever since he received it. Could never be too careful when you left stuff lying around.

The next morning, he left early, and arrived at the alloted location with plenty of time to spare.

Ron frowned, gaze piercing the trees ahead and ducking his head round until he saw her: Fleur, standing to the side of a clearing, fingers tapping the slim wand she held in one hand. He stalked over to her, the grass barely audible beneath his feet.

"Fleur."

She jumped, eyes widening as she hissed what Ron took to be a swear word underneath her breath. Her chest sagged as her gaze washed over him.

"Oh, it's you."

Ron said nothing. This whole operation was her idea, after all. He was just here to try and prevent himself from being outed.

She drew in a breath sharply. "Well... thank you. For meeting me."

"I needed to." Ron said, with a blank expression. "Had to make sure you wouldn't tell anyone."

Fleur blinked a few times. "What?" She asked sharply. "Haven't you told your family? I thought you already would have, but Bill never mentioned anything, and I didn't want to be rude-"

Ron shook his head. "No, he wouldn't know anything. This is... quite recent."

"How recent?"

"A few weeks, around about."

Fleur looked even more surprised. "A- a few _weeks_?" Almost instinctually, she takes a step back, it seeming like she was hardly aware of the motion herself. "So you cannot... control yourself yet?"

Something gave in his chest. "No... not- not really-" Ron swallowed, glancing away briefly to try and gather the bee swarm gathering right in his chest. Tightening his jaw, he stared back down at Fleur with a reinforced gaze. "No." He sighed. "No, not at all - I actually don't have a fucking clue what I'm doing."

Then, Fleur looked bemused. "You don't?"

"No. Not the foggiest. I tried to get blood, and I ended up _killing_ someone-" He stopped, knowing he had said too much. But it was too late now. Ron nodded almost frantically. "Nearly. I did. I-I- it was... nearly all my fault. I'm not cut out for this. I can't do this. I'm not- I just can't," he says, voice turning to pleading.

She looked half confused, half panicked, and then like she was wondering if this is all a big joke. Ron knew the feeling.

"I know, I know, stupid, right? Me... I don't know, but it's just... the entire time, I wondered why me? But there's nothing I can do about it. There isn't a cure for this, but I'm sure you know that." Ron just needed to shut up, to stop talking right now- but Fleur was still silent. All his justifications falling on deaf ears. "Fleur? Can you- can you say something?"

Her voice finally filters though the air as a whisper. "I... thought you knew what you were doing. Or your family did." She shakes her head vigorously, turning in the other direction. "No; I'm going to Bill, he needs to know zis, it's not safe-"

"No! Fleur, you can't!"

The shout visibly startled her. She spun around, expression now torn into fear. "Why? Your family- they need to know-"

"They can't!"

"I'm sure zey would be able to figure something out-"

Ron scrubbed a hand impatiently through his hair. "No, you can't, or they'll get hurt. Do you want that?"

"Ron, what are you talking about?"

Somehow, he's suddenly breathless. "You- you can't, because then he'll get them."

"Who?"

"The one that turned me."

It seems like Fleur's forgotten about leaving; that, or her limbs are frozen in place from the shock. "Someone is threatening you and your family? And you still didn't think to tell anyone?" Her voice broke, light tones cracking slightly. "I... it was stupid, to think zat a sixteen-year-old boy could- could do all of zis-"

Ron shook his head again. "No, no, you really can't tell anyone - he's powerful, from what I can tell old and rich, and there are more people backing him."

"You 'ave ze Order on your side, you could take him down-"

Ron laughed, the sound lacking any kind of warmth or humour. "You think they would help me? A bloody vampire who- who-" Who killed someone. But he just can't seem to say it.

Fleur flinched at both words. "What did you... do?" She asked, the lacklustre ending mixed with morbid intrigue and genuine sadness. Ron's not keen to elaborate.

"I made a mistake," Ron said quietly. "It was all a _mistake_. A really stupid mistake. I-I never meant to, but... if I wasn't what I am..." Again, the words just keep escaping him. But Fleur wouldn't suspect anything.

Nobody ever would. Idiot sidekick of Harry Potter's a murderous vampire?

It sounded unbelievable, even to Ron, and it was _his_ _life._

"What? Where? When? And who is this person who turned you?"

Ron swallowed. "I'll tell you, if you promise not to got to Bill. Not without asking me first."

After considering it for a few moments, Fleur finally nods.

"All right, Ronald. But I still don't like zis. Not one bit."

* * *

Half an hour later, the whole story was out. What had happened from the moment he was turned, up until now.

Fleur actually _cried_. It was only a bit, and she denied it afterwards, but a few tears still slipped from her eyes.

"Er, are you... all right?" Said Ron, still not really able to fathom why she had suddenly burst into sporadic tears. It wasn't that bad - well, it was, and Ron couldn't deny he'd freaked out plenty over it, but he still wasn't expecting this.

She dabbed at her eyes. "Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said, despite the fact it looked like the opposite to him. "Eet's just so 'orrible, 'ow you're so _young_... zis Mordecai stole your entire life."

Ron froze, before managing to nod numbly. "I know. Can you see why I don't want to tell my family, then? They'd only be torn up over a situation they couldn't have done anything about."

"But zey'd still want to know, Ron. You should tell zem. Zey can 'elp you-"

"How?!" Ron exploded, patience finally worn thin. "They can't help me, no-one can! I just have to go with it, all right? So I don't cause any more problems. I'm going to go to Hogwarts in September, like Mordecai said-"

Fleur looked aghast. "No, you can't! A- a vampire cannot go to 'ogwarts, zat's ludicrous-"  
"I know, but what other choice do I have? And I want to go. I want to- to just finish school, and then go from there."

"You theenk you can do zis, on your own? You can keep it up for two more years?"

"What else am I supposed to do, Fleur? Mordecai's threatening my family, and my... my- what I am, if I tell people now, even my family, I'll be killed. Or shunned. Exiled at the very least. The Ministry hates creatures anyway, and what with all the Death Eater- vampire activity, I'm done for!"

Fleur blinked at him, silver eyes scanning his worriedly. "Ron... I-"

"No, don't." He was fed up of this now. Fleur couldn't do anything - she _couldn't_ help him, I mean, hell, she probably didn't even want to. "You cannot do a single thing to change any of this, so just leave me the fuck alone."

"Ron-"

"Please."

She sighed. "Won't you at least let me try? Or- or just- you won't explain anything! Who is zis Mordecai? Who is 'e? Who-"  
"I don't know! I just don't know, all right? I didn't know who the girl was, and I don't have a clue who Mordecai is. All I know is that I need to get through this summer, and then however long I stay at Hogwarts, and you need to keep out of it."

She was about to complain, before something seemed to dawn on her. "However long you stay at 'Ogwarts? What does zat mean?"

"I'm on borrowed time, basically," Ron mumbled impatiently. "Mordecai told me the people who wanted me to be turned could call me back at any time. But, the most important thing you should have taken from that is that you should _keep out of this-"_

Her face crumpled. "Ron... I'm sorry. You've 'ad everything taken from you."

An uncomfortable silence followed her words.

Ron swallowed down the sudden tightness in his throat. "I know. No- no use dwelling on it. I've done that enough."

The wind carried on through the trees.

"I don't sleep anymore," he said, half with a grin like it was a joke. He wished it was. "I can't. Because of what I am and not needing to, and then the nightmares." He stared at the grass, his beaten trainers atop of it and crushing the dry strands. "I nearly- I nearly-" I nearly _killed_ someone, he wants to say, but chokes at the last words.

She still draws in a sharp breath, but he ignores her.

"But what if that happened when he _wasn't_ there? What then?" He began to laugh, making no sense, and then stopped abruptly. "Fleur," he said, letting his glamour drop. Her eyes widened in terror as his scarlet pupils reflected in the crystal blue of hers. "This is my fault; I wasn't cautious enough, wasn't practised enough, wasn't _good_ enough..." He widened his forlorn grin, and she saw the sharp canines hidden there. "It's all my fault. _Everything_."

She looked terrified. He couldn't blame her, really - Ron still couldn't look in the runed mirror without flinching at his true form.

* * *

Talking with Fleur had been a good thing, Ron tried to convince himself. Now that she knew the entire story, even the shittier parts (and admittedly, there were a lot) she would have no need to write to him. She would leave him alone; let this trainwreck of a life crumble in on itself into dust.

But if anything she was more insistent. Even after he shown her the extent of his now freakishness, she _still_ wanted to try and help him - even if it was with an uncomfortable grimace.

Ron didn't miss the way she seemed to be unable to make eye contact after she knew the clear blue was nothing more than a facade. But at least she wasn't running away and demanding the townsfolk gather the pitchforks, so it could be worse.

Yes, things could be much worse. For one she could have told his family - for now, at least, it looked like she was going to keep quiet. Good.

Even still it felt like Ron had lost something, something he should've held onto with all his might.

"So, are you going to tell?"

After considering it for a few moments, Fleur shook her head.

"I should. But I won't... because I know 'ow terrible it would be if the Ministry found out, especially after..." She never finished her sentence, but she didn't have to.

There were more than a few things that could finish off that phrase, and none of them were what he wanted to hear. That the laws were tightening, most likely, because they were. Ron had read the papers.

But what Fleur said next shot pure, panic straight down his spine like ice.

"Ron, you need to tell your family. I know it's difficult, but first... I want to meet Mordecai."

* * *

Mordecai knew something was up: his Legilimency was far more piercing than usually, and there was something in his expression every time he looked at Ron that just said, _I know what you're hiding_.

Ron really, really hoped he didn't.

Fleur and Ron had talked all day, only parting ways when the dusk began crept in and he knew it would be time to go back to the Burrow, the journey home as quiet as the one on the way here.

Molly smiled at him across the dining table, and Ron made an extra effort to shovel in another mouthful of peas with his usual gusto, grinning at her in return. Her eyes crinkled at the corners.

She sighed. "Ron, Ginny, I have some good news."

His sister perked up at once. "What, Mum? Is there another sale on?"

Her smile widened. "No, dear. Dumbledore sent me a letter saying we should expect Harry and Hermione soon, that's all!"

Oh yes, _finally_ , things were getting boring around here with just Ginny to play quidditch; with his friends back they could all-

they could...

oh _Merlin._

 _Harry and Hermione would be here, in less than a few days._ They would be here, in the Burrow, sharing the table during meals and sleeping across the hall from one another at night. Well, they would all sleep, and Ron would sneak out to go and meet some moody, murderous vampire.

As people-you-would-sneak-out-to-meet went, Ron would say he picked a fairly bad choice.

Not that it ever was a choice, really.

He shook his head, blinking at his parents' waiting expressions, he snapped out of it, forcing the grin back onto his face. "Great," he said. Behind him, Ginny hummed excitedly. "We can all play Quidditch, right?"

Ginny tsked. "More than that, but yeah. Can't wait to see Hermione again!"

"Yeah, me neither," Ron replied, but he didn't miss his mother's expression flicker to unsurety. It was barely half a second... but just enough to spark panic in Ron's gut.

He let his fork fall onto his plate, cushioned by the large remanants of food still sat on the plate.

Sometimes he felt guilty about it - wasting sustenance he didn't need. He was a vampire, for Merlin's sake, one who didn't need the portions heaped onto his plate by his badgering mother. Not like he could tell her, though.

Maybe he could. Fleur had certainly seemed keen on the idea, but at this point, Ron was afraid to. The fear in his brother's fiancee's eyes when she saw his true form would haunt him for years to come - not as much as the girl in the forest, perhaps - but more than he needed whenever he shut his eyes.

The kitchen was pleasantly warm, but all of a sudden it seemed too hot. The fact that his temperature was constantly regulated just by itself flew away from him as he stared hard at some scratch on the worn wood of the kitchen table, imagining the encounter in the forest but instead one of the members of his family laying dead in the leaves; his father, maybe, glasses stained with smears of blood and limbs bent at odd angles.

They would all hate him; they wouldn't understand. He was starting to wish he had told them that night he stumbled home in the dark; bloody, bruised, and unbeknownst to him, a freshly-turned vampire.

Maybe they could have protected him from Mordecai. Maybe they would have been able to do something - but he had been (and still was) hurt and confused and saw the only source of help as Mordecai, the only one who could tell him how he was supposed to deal with this.

And now, he had killed someone. Things had well and truly gotten out of hand.

"Ron?" Suddenly, Arthur was peering at him, kind blue eyes blinking at him behind the beaten frames of his glasses. Ron gulped, and his father smirked. "Drifted off their for a minute, did you?"

He fiddled with the side of the seat he was sitting on, nodding quietly. "Yeah," he said in reply, before snorting slightly. "Hard not to with these to around."

Then, he gestured at Ginny and his mother, who were currently engaged in a discussion about the latest outfits featured in Witch Weekly, which despite everything else going on had managed to fit in an article documenting the latest trends. Ron got it only half of the time.

His father nodded. "I know... I lost track after they mentioned what the Weird Sisters had decided to wear at their latest concert." He frowned. "The last concert for a while, I think."

Ron swallowed, food forgotten. "Yeah."

* * *

That night, he told Mordecai about the upcoming arrival of his friends.

Not about Fleur, though. But maybe he'd have to soon - despite the fact he had appeased her for the moment, she still wouldn't leave him alone until he let her. Although their meeting that day had ended, she said she wanted to talk more over the increasingly worrying brunch in which they would all make friends again.

And in letters. He fully expected to receive bundles upon bundles of letters, none of them too kind. Their entire purpose would be to bully him into revealing it to his family, which admittedly didn't seem like such a bad option.

Things were just complicated right now. And he hadn't even revealed the worst of his secrets.

Ron hated that he almost added a yet onto the end of that statement.

This could _never_ come out. That he was vampire, and then that he had killed someone.

As horrible as it sounded, he thought the second one was worse. The first he had no choice, and the second he lost control on the reins he'd been holding back for days. The bloodlust had escaped him and ran rampant on the poor girl just laying there in front of him, already motionless.

Anywho, Mordecai would know about Harry and Hermione arriving when they turned up. There was no point in keeping it from him. And besides, Ron needed to prepare.

"...What? In a few days?" The man said, spinning around to face Ron with an unreadable expression that Ron hoped very much wasn't anger. "Do you know exactly when your friends are getting there?"

"No." Mordecai frowned slightly at this, placing a hand on his side before glancing up at Ron again. His fingers flexed a little.

He sighed. "Well, that's a problem... but it should all be fine. You're ready."

Ron spluttered. "Ready? Me? I... no. Not at all."  
"Why not?"

He scoffed slightly, before, of course, he remembered just who he was talking to. "I've made too many mistakes. I- I killed someone, remember!"  
"Yes, I do," said Mordecai, appearing to muse over his options. He nodded in the half gloom only lit up by the pale moonlight. "Your Occlumency has improved, as have your duelling skills... but that's not what's important. All you need to worry about is, well, not killing them all. Accidentally or on purpose."

Ron pulled a face, but Mordecai steamrollered on. "You haven't shown complete susceptibility to the blood - not once have you tried to eat your family-"  
"Well... no, they're my family, why would I-"

"You'd be surprised," he replied shortly. Ron wondered just what he meant by that, but brushed it off.

Mordecai frowned at him. "You don't seem that bothered by blood at all, really. So you'll do fine around your friends. You'll have to."

"I-I am, I'd just rather go without than drain my sister."

"Well, that makes you special then. Or maybe you're still adjusting." He added with a leering tone. "Let's hope you don't suddenly discover an aching thirst for blood when you get to Hogwarts."

It was only after they had been duelling for a while that a question came up in Ron's mind. He didn't hesitate to ask - it was important.

"How- how am I supposed to get blood?"

Mordecai hesitated. "At Hogwarts, you mean?"  
"Where else?"

"Watch it," he said threateningly, tone low and his dark eyes narrowed like slits.

"I- yeah. But how am I supposed to get it?"

From the resounding silence, Ron hoped Mordecai didn't mean for him to get blood how he had been imagining: to feed off his fellow students. That was too far. He couldn't do that.

Not even Snape.

As, well, essential (and delicious, as much as he hated to admit it) blood was, he would rather never have to drink it again in his life. Technically, he could actually do that, but going without another drop of blood his entire life would make it a very short one.

He knew it was horribly selfish, but he'd rather live over other's discomfort. It made this whole thing worse, because he knew Harry would have already thrown himself out into the sunshine to save the people around him.

Ron knew there was a way to do this - a way that didn't result in any more death. Maybe Mordecai knew.

He sighed quietly, before saying, "So. How do I do it? How do I go to Hogwarts and still... and not die?"

Ron waited about half a minute, his expression becoming more and more skeptical, as Mordecai appeared to be doing nothing. He was about to ask again when the man finally sniffed, and said,

"Dunno."

The impact of his words (well, word) to hit took longer than Ron realised. Mordecai was now frowning at him, mouth half open like he was going to say something when Ron finally kicked into action again.

"You what? You- you don't know?! You were just going to send me to Hogwarts and see what happens?!"

He considered it for a moment. "Well, it would be funny- but, I see your point," he added hastily at Ron's thunderous scowl. "No. I was not going to just send you off without a plan - but, I figured we still had a while to come up with something, so... it's not that bad."

He nearly screamed when the man shrugged, but held it in on account of the numerous threats he would undoubtedly receive soon after. "Well... did you have anything in mind? Anything at all?"

To Ron's surprise, Mordecai's expression cleared a little. "Yes. A few." He began pacing back and forth, tattered shoes crunching on the ground. "First, there's the idea I could send you blood in bottles through the post, but that's a pretty risky idea-"  
"Since the post gets searched," said Ron with a sigh. They'd all heard about the new safety measures of scanning through parcels and whatnot to Hogwarts and any other self-respecting establishment.

"I mean we could always disguise it, but really, how often are you sent perfume and other things like that... judging by the scent of you, not often, so-" he drew in a sharp breath, cutting over Ron's protests and offering another suggestion. "Or, you could try and sneak out. How difficult are the wards to bypass? Any secret entrances? Hogwarts seems like a place for that-"

"Wait, you've never been?" Asked Ron sharply. "But you can do magic."

"Yes, I _can_ do magic, but I never went to Hogwarts. Don't ask about it again or I will demostrate the full extent of my magical prowess, got it?"

Ron didn't need telling twice. He just nodded, and Mordecia went right on. "But... are there? Passageways and whatnot?"

Ron nodded, thinking of the Marauder's Map. Maybe Harry would let him borrow it, or he could just glance over it to check

"But anyway, my second idea was to sneak you out of the school and then for us to apparate somewhere to get blood like we did before."

Ron peered at him for a solid minute, until Mordecai began to glare at him.

"So when you said you didn't have any idea before, that was a lie?"

His expression cleared. "Perhaps," said Mordecai. "But isn't it always so much better when you don't make plans? It's always more fun."

"I- all right," said Ron, not sure how else he was supposed to respond to that.

* * *

"Mum, is it all right if we all go and meet Bill and Fleur?"

The question caught his mother off-guard. She almost dropped the small watering can in her hand, water splashing over the small plant she had been working on.

A quizzical expression settled on her face. "What, dear? Bill? We- we haven't spoken since the night he left," she said, wordlessly turning back the leafy green plant sprawling in its red plantpot, tapping her wand against it to stop it from falling out. It fell motionless, and she hummed slightly in triumph.

Ron tore his gaze away from the window, and the organism sat on its ledge. "You haven't. But I have." She turned around in surprise, and he half sighed.

"I saw how unhappy everyone was. Figured it couldn't hurt, and... I said some things I regret. I wanted to apologise. And so did Ginny."

"Your sister knew about this too? What about your father - was I the only one that didn't?"

He shook his head at her disconcerted expression. "No, Dad doesn't know yet. But he'll have to soon, since I agreed to brunch with them. Was- was that all right?"

His mother beamed widely almost at once, pushing away the watering can and her wand and enveloping him into a warm hug, arms pushing so tightly around Ron until he began to fidget under the embrace.

"Mum," he said, feeling his face heat up. "S-stop, it really wasn't that much of a big deal-"

"Oh love," she interrupted him. " _Thank you_." They broke apart, Molly's eyes oddly shiny. She smiled at him again. "I was being silly, not apologising and... and letting this go on for so long." She sighed. "I just didn't want the same thing to happen with Bill that happened with Percy: that I tried to fix it, and he wouldn't even hear me out." Her expression changed; crestfallen. "All the letters got sent back unopened. But, I said some horrible things..."

Ron patted her on the arm. "He'll come round eventually, Percy will. He's just being a bit of a prat - you know how much he hates admitting he was wrong."

He couldn't speak, then, because his mother had wrapped her arms around him again, and was holding him even more tightly. "Thank you, Ron," she said into his shoulder.

He patted her back again, a little awkwardly from the angle. "It's- it's fine."

And then they were apart again, and his mother was suddenly brushing his face, pressing her hand up to his forehead and sweeping aside his fringe. She frowned at him. "You're awfully cold," she said with a frown, tone downcast. "And you're still looking quite peaky. Still feeling under the weather?"

Pushing aside the rapidly rising lump in his throat, Ron tugged out from his mother's grasp (missing the way her face fell slightly) and took a few steps back. His gaze fell back onto the windowledge, where rays of sunlight splashed through the glass and onto his mother's hand at her side. Funny how his poison was so harmless to others.

He saw no reason not to jump on that theory. Being ill.

"Yeah, still feeling a bit off." He acknowledged, and it was true.

She nodded. "Shall we get you up to bed, then? Bit of rest should make you feel better - I hear there's some summer thing going round, and I don't think it's extreme enough for a potion, is it? Just spend the afternoon in bed, not like we're doing much else here-"

Ron lost track of the conversation after that, just his mother guiding him up the stairs and to his room, threatening a visit to the doctor's since there was clearly something wrong.

She had noticed him picking at meals, becoming more subdued by the day, his sudden almost sickly-looking pallor. She wasn't that stupid.

But as to what was plaguing her son, she wasn't sure. In fact, she wasn't sure if it was entirely physical. Quite sure actually. But... he seemed all right.

Appearances could be deceiving, though.

Ron was worried as he was practically forced to lie down atop his bed by his mother, and told strictly to rest and not push himself for the rest of the day. Seemingly out of habit she lingered, fingers smoothing down the patched quilt.

"Sure you'll be all right, dear."

"Yeah, Mum," he said. "I just need some rest."

She frowned at him with fond resignation. "Okay, love. I'll see you later."

And then she left, somehow knowing that this wouldn't do a thing, but doing it all the same. One could at least hope in times like these.

Ron knew that too. He was going to go to some stupid brunch with Fleur and Bill, to piece back together his family despite the fact it was the least important focus on his list right now, just like he was going to pretend to rest, even though he would never be able to again.

Not truly.

* * *

Finally, Harry and Hermione are coming to the Burrow. Took long enough (oops). But thanks for sticking with this story (despite it taking so long) and showing your support in the comment section!

-Tea33 :)


	11. Repeat

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Eleven: Repeat

Ron fidgeted in his seat, promptly earning a menacing glare from his mother. He crossed his hands in his lap, and moved no more. The fidgeting was because he was nervous - incredibly so, in fact. So much so that he had nearly poked a hole in the tablecloth from the amount he had fussed with it. His mother would have done more than glare at him then. But he had nothing to do until Bill and Fleur arrived, until he saw the only other person who knew what he was again apart from Mordecai. The only one who could hold his species over his head like a threat.

Merlin, he hoped she didn't say anything, that she would stick to her word. He had assured her that at least for the moment, he wasn't in any terrible danger, considering his new status of immortality. But it wouldn't hold her off for long.

The reason Ron was so adamant about keeping her away was because, if Fleur went to meet Mordecai, it would mean that he knew the secret had been compromised. Fleur was a risk; a danger to both of them. If she said a word to the Ministry, both Ron and Mordecai and probably never seen again if they were caught.

A though popped into his head; what _would_ happen if word got out what he was? Would he have to run away? With (and Ron shuddered at the though) _Mordecai_? He didn't have to think much to imagine how horrible that would be.

Nobody knew what happened to the creatures registered by the Ministry. 'Registration', or having everything about you from your name, age, location, workplace and anyone you might have associated with was mandatory for anyone less than human. Some creatures were regarded with less contempt, and others more. Vampires were on the 'more' side - probably because they were very much after human blood, and would 'attack' at any moment to get it. That was how vampires were viewed. It was how Ron used to see them, and partly still. The only reason his thinking changed was because, well, he was one. He knew how torturous the thirst could become sometimes, and then how easy losing control was.

Apparently though, Ron was somewhat good at holding him in. But the pulses of the people around him didn't make that any easier.

Fleur and Bill entered the restaurant, and began making their way over. Continuing to tap the salt shakers, Ginny looked unequivocally bored as everyone gave their stiff greetings, his mother smiling strainedly when Fleur sat opposite her, Bill by her side.

"Right," said Mrs Weasley, breathing out slowly. "Should we... get started?"

Bill nodded. "Sure."

Still, nobody said anything. Ron saw from the corner of his eye his father swallowing, and then looking at his lap, still silent; his mother's gaze flickering worriedly to her son and apparent daughter-in-law; Ginny still messing with the condiments at the other end of the table, out of their mother's eye and Bill with his mouth curved to start off a sentence, but never quite managing it.

So, Ron decided to say something first.

"Er," he said, because what better way to start a speech. "I- I just wanted to say I was sorry, again for everything I said and did-"

And that's all it takes. His mother suddenly sighs painfully, and looks at Bill with teary eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bill... I don't know _why_ I said all of those things," she sniffs. "I'm really thrilled, you know - for you and Fleur." And then with a wide smile, adds: "I think it's lovely that you've managed to meet someone with all of this going on."

"Me too," Ginny suddenly pipes up breezily. "It's all cool and whatever, but just don't go snogging all the time. And owl me if you ever break up-"

"That's enough, Ginny," Arthur snaps, and she reluctantly shuts her mouth. With a solemn gleam in his eye, he nods at Bill. "You've done well for yourself, son. Do Fleur's parents know?"

Bill, who is looking thoroughly astounded but pleased, nods with a swift jerk of his head. "Er, yeah. They do. Haven't met me yet-" he paused to link hands with Fleur, entwined hands resting between them, "-but we will go and see them. Soon."

His mother, having wiped the last tear from her cheek, smiled. "Bet they'll love you and your fang earring." Everyone chuckles at that, and Ron... he feels glad that this is all resolved. At least it looks like it all is.

He even grinned at the next joke Ginny cracked, but feels it freeze when Fleur suddenly turns to look at him, piercing gaze exactly like the one she had shot through his excuses with at the Crescent Moon.

All through the meal, he waited for her to do something. To say something. Maybe to reveal his secret, or assure him that she won't. It's only when he's halfway through forcing down some sandwich he decided to get that Fleur makes a conspicuous hand motion that luckily goes unnoticed by the rest of the group, and a half-folded piece of paper ends up in his lap.

He presses it swiftly into his pocket, and nods at her. She gives no inclination that she understood what he meant, or that she was even the one who had sent the note. And, although he's not sure what the note says, he has a feeling she's agreed to keep his secret - at least for now.

* * *

He doesn't have to wait long before an opportunity to read the note comes up; halfway through dinner, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, really only to get away from everyone for a while. And the food. Mostly the food; it's exhausting trying to force it down when a meal is the last thing he wants to think about.

At least the human type. Preferably he'd have the vampire one, but... that option terrifies him almost as much.

It's like a sweet poison, the blood is. Delicious but ultimately so, so very wrong. He needs it to survive, though. Ron wondered what animal blood would taste like - whether it would satisfy the cravings just as well as human's blood did. He hoped so; it would make his transition to Hogwarts easier. Or not. Maybe hunting animals was just as difficult; hell if he knew.

What was he saying? Ron shook his head in disgust as he leaned against the stall wall. He should just stop thinking about all of this, and get to the more important things, like what the hell that letter said. Hopefully no one could smell the blatant blood lust clinging to him like a shadow.

He sighed and unfolded the note.

_I'll do it. I won't say anything. But you have to let me meet Mordecai in the next few days. I'll give you three; make your choice quickly or I'll come anyway. I may even let slip something to your family._

Ron swallowed. That was it - no farewell, no name of who exactly it was from. But you didn't have to be a genius to work out it was Fleur, of course. He wasn't afraid - why would he be? He already knew what it would say. He already knew the terms. He already knew he was on borrowed time... that his secret wouldn't stay secret forever. He was just trying to make the best of a shitty situation he still had no idea what to do about. He was just some naive vampire posing as a teenage boy.

A teenage boy that had a family, one who would notice if he disappeared for half an hour. Ron went back out to the table, where everyone was finishing up.

"But how do they do it? I just don't know!" Exclaimed Arthur, to which Bill snorted and slumped forward in his chair.

"Just look it up, dad, it's not that hard," he told his father imploringly. Fleur glanced at him with an adoring look in her eyes, before she noticed Ron sidling over. Then, her cool blue gaze hardened, making it so she was practically frowning at him.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Uh, hi."

Ginny nodded at him. "Hey," she said glumly. She was still rather put out from their dad giving her a good telling-off earlier. She probably deserved it, and from the way Ginny

Ron scoffed. "You deserved it, you know-"

"Yes, I do, but please don't turn this into a lecture-"

"Yeah yeah, all right." He glanced round at the table, everyone laughing and getting on over post-meal cups of coffee. "But isn't it better now that everyone's together again?"

She considered his words for a moment with a torn expression. "Yeah, I s'pose. At least Mum won't cry about Percy _and_ Bill," she gestured towards Bill, who had just pecked a blushing Fleur on the cheek.

"Yeah," Ron nodded, wondering if Mrs Weasley would cry about him if she ever found out what he was. "I'm not going to attempt to patch things up with Percy, though - at least not until he admits he's the one in the wrong."

"Plus he's being a complete prat," Ginny agreed. "But maybe one day. And thanks, you know, for getting everyone here. Don't reckon I could've done it," she adds quietly.

He shrugged. "All in a day's work."

"Shut the _fuck_ up," Ginny scoffed, and Ron snorted.

"Sorry-"

"You better be." She grinned, glancing over to him and then back at the empty booth opposite. A couple had been there, but they were gone now, their empty cups and plates gone too. "I don't think I've heard anything that terrible since the twins moved out."

Ron thought for a moment. "Speaking of the twins, when are we going to visit their shop?"

Ginny shrugged. "I'm not sure," she debated slowly. "But I think we're going to do the big Back-To-School-Diagon-Alley-Trip when Harry and Hermione get here. It makes more sense that way."

The conversation paused. Ron watched his mother take another neat sip of her drink, smiling as the caramel coloured liquid passed her lips. He scrunched his face up in puzzlement, wondering how she could just drink that so easily, when Ron knew that if he tried every mouthful would feel like mud. Thick and gloopy and worse the thirstier he got for the thing he truly craved.

His mother caught his eye, setting the cup down on the table. "I know, I know," she remarked lowly. "I didn't like it when I was your age either. Just wait a few years and you'll find coffee's purpose." She picked up the cup again, taking another swig. "It's a refined taste," she declared.

Ron wasn't sure if that was even possible, for his tastes to change and develop as he got older. Or, would he remain forever in some unbreakable loop of never growing older or younger? Forever paused at sixteen?

He thought of other vampires he knew - or, just one, really. Mordecai. How old even was he? At what age had he been turned, and at what age did he remain? Not having given much thought to it before now, Ron frowned and began to ponder about Mordecai's background. Would he be so bloodthirsty in a few years? Was it just something that happened to their kind? In twenty - no, it could be even sooner than that, even - would he be just like his vampire sire?

Would he be constantly bloodthirsty, sadistic and uncaring to the people around him? Would that be what pushed them away from him - the slowly-shrinking side of Ron's more humane person, the one that hated what he was and what he had to do?

Sure, there were some perks, but did he want to go the rest of his existence unable to sleep, to eat, to enjoy a conversation with someone without first focusing on the thrumming of their pulse, and then secondly, trying to relate to someone when they would be so different? How long until he couldn't relate to his family, his friends, because of how separated he was from their reality?

Ron was living his own kind of reality. One cruel and cold and unforgiving, and one he desperately wanted to escape. Maybe, going back to Hogwarts could do that for him. Distract him with magic and classes and cool creatures until he forgot about this whole mess back at home.

He simply smiled back at his mother. "Sure, Mum. I'll keep it in mind when I'm your age... about sixty, right?"

She mimed smacking him over the head with the dessert menu.

How _would_ Ron look when he was that old, though? Would his looks ever change? According to myth, no, but that couldn't always be entirely trusted.

He had absolutely no plans for the future. He was doomed.

* * *

That night, Ron sent a letter to Fleur.

 _I don't want you to meet Mordecai. I don't know what he'll do, if he found out that_ you _found out._ _Please don't ask to meet him again - I don't want anyone else to get hurt. I don't know who he'd go after if he found out I was careless._

_R._

She sent back a response within the hour.

_I don't care, I can handle myself. Just let me talk to him so I can try and negotiate a way out for you, before anyone gets hurt._

_F._

The letters were getting stupidly short and annoyingly frequent, but still Ron sent another one. Didn't she see how this _could not_ work?

_How are you going to do that, though? Mordecai has no humane side to appeal to. What exactly is your plan, once you get there? Veela allure doesn't work on vampires._

_R._

_I know, I do have other skills. And just leave it to me._ _Also, I have decided I will be coming tomorrow. I will be waiting on the outskirts of the Burrow - and I will search for Mordecai whether you join me or not._

_Make a decision._

_F._

Signing off the letters was almost pointless. Ron already knew who was turning out to be one of the most problematic people in his life.

He just wasn't sure what Fleur was intending to _do._ Offering him money was a futile attempt, since he already seemed to have more than enough of that, no matter what the state of his clothes said. Mordecai didn't seem like the loyal type, though, so perhaps he could be persuaded by even more gold than he was paid to leave Ron alone, turning his back on whoever wanted to turn him in the first place.

And just who exactly that was he had given some thought to. The Weasleys had a lot of enemies, mostly from the dark side, so Death Eaters and anyone affiliated them were certainly in question as to who . The Malfoys for one, then almost any Slytherin family, a smattering of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and Gryffindor families. Maybe Mordecai had been lying, and it was just him all along.

Admittedly, that would make things easier. Ron imagined a whole shadow army standing behind the solitary figure slipping away into mist, until it was just one vampire against another, and Fleur too, it seemed.

He had improved, in his duelling and Occlumency and all of the other things Mordecai saw fit to 'teach' him. But taking on your teacher, especially one as ruthless as Mordecai, was not something Ron wanted to do. Ever. He liked his face as it was, thanks very much... but really, if it gave him a shot at freedom he might consider it.

 _Come on, Ron... show a little Gryffindor courage,_ he told himself, gulping and scribbling out yet another response to Fleur telling her that he would meet her, and that then together, they would go and face Mordecai.

He tried his best to quash it, convincing himself it would never happen, but a small tendril of hope crept up his spine as he wrote - that everything _could_ be okay one day.

* * *

"We need to go out again tonight."

"You what?"

Mordecai's jaw tightened. "You heard me. We're going out again, for blood."

"No - no way."

"So, you want to starve and go insane? Go ahead. I won't stop you," he leered at him with a curved smirk. "Soon enough you'll have-"

"Eaten my family, yeah I know-"

"But do you? Are you imagining it?" Mordecai's face was half-masked by the darkness, but nonetheless it still terrified him.

"I am now," muttered Ron darkly.

"But the point is, you have to come. And I have a less violent method than before."

"What kind of method?"

"We're going to break into a hospital."

* * *

"So- so how do we actually get into this place?"

Ron asked because of how foreboding the large white-painted brick building looked, an igloo against the velveteen night sky. It looked like some kind of impenetrable fortress, entirely secure apart from the calculated windows dotting across the walls and the wide door at the front, but Ron wondered what kind of protections it had around it.

"How are the wards? Powerful?" He began to wrack his brain, thinking of all the ward-breaking techniques he knew. But the easiest way would be to lure one of the people running this medical fortress and persuade them to let them in. Maybe they could even try Legilimency.

Ron had only practised it a few times, but exactly like the Occlumency found he now had a natural knack for it. He should have felt bad about it, just breaking in like a common thief. But better a common thief than a murderous vampire willing to knock people down like houses of cards to get what they wanted. He just hoped that Mordecai's version of 'less violent' was the same as Ron's.

Probably not, knowing him. But you had to keep hoping, right?

Mordecai turned to him with a barely-hidden smirk. "There are no wards."

"What d'you mean?" He frowned. Why would a hospital not have wards? 

"It's a Muggle hospital."

Ron's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "You _what_?"

"I _said_ it's a Mug-"

"I know what you said, but we're just going to pick on innocent Muggles and- and-"

"Eat them?" Said Mordecai with an incredulous expression. "No, because then what would we do next time- and don't make that face, I told you it's not violent!"

"How can it not be violent?"

"Look, let me just show you-" Mordecai began to explain, starting to walk closer to the building. Ron stood behind, confused.

"Well, come on." Ron finally did so, trailing behind in his unsurety. Mordecai sighed.

"Right, so you know how some wizards'll give some of their blood to sick wizards? Well, the Muggles do it too. And they keep all the blood in neat little bags that are easily stolen."

"So... we're gonna go in, and nick some blood? Just like that?" Some part of Ron was appalled that the Muggles were so defenceles, that they had been able to slip inside their hospital so easily. Another part of him worried that they actually weren't, and some huge army of Muggles wielding terrifying weapons he'd only heard about in stories would charge at them and pin them to the wall like dead flies.

Mordecai carried on like that train of thought hadn't occured to him at all. "Yes, that's the plan, and as long as we don't attract too much attention the Ministry will keep away." He glanced at him. "You got a problem with it?"

Ron took one look at Mordecai's gritted teeth and shook his head, swallowing.

And that was how he ended up robbing a hospital of blood donations. All in all it went all right - they snuck past the front desk, all the while Mordecai giving tips on how to be more stealthy.

"You want to be light on your feet - tap into some of that vampire energy."

Ron had no fucking idea what he meant, but nodded anyway.

"How do we get past her?" He asked, nodding at who he presumed to be one of the hospital staff walking by. She sighed and adjusted her scrubs, running a hand through the forlorn strands escaping from her lucid blonde bun.

Mordecai hardly spared her a glance. "It's fine, she's too tired to realise." True to his word she yawned loudly and wandered off into a different room, the door snapping shut behind her. "It is the middle of the night."

"I forget sometimes, what with not sleeping and all."

The man looked confused for a moment, and Ron quickly realised why: this was the first he had brought up his issues with sleeping. Mordecai's expression cleared, and he shrugged it off, clearly not bothering to bring it up and stalked forward some more, crouching stealthily behind doorways and ducking around them to check the coast was clear. Overhead, the stark lighting buzzed and fluttered blearily.

Scrunching his nose up at it, he carried on. After Mordecai, the one Fleur seemed desperate to meet. Maybe she was just curious, maybe she wanted to blast him to the planet next door. Either way they were all going to meet; Ron couldn't hold her off anymore, and... honestly? If there was a way to get him out of this mess, this deep, deep hole he had managed to entrench himself in, then he would do anything. He would even hand over the shovel to Fleur and beg her to start digging.

But that would never happen. Ron was half afraid to hope, because he just felt so alone that if he were crushed again, he might just evaporate into dust and let the wind carry him away. 

Next, Mordecai led him to a steel door and Ron, still craning his neck round to get a look at the innards of the Muggle hospital. It was all white and shiny and (mostly) pristine; similar to St Mungo's, except with no moving portraits, and more of a... dead feel. It was the lack of magic, Ron reckoned. Or maybe the fact he actually _was_ dead.

Turning the handle, Mordecai silently let himself into the room, leaving Ron to do the same. As he was going in he pressed his palm against the door and surprisingly felt no difference in temperature. Either the door was warm, or he was cold. Perhaps a little of both.

All Ron knew that he was like a muted medium, cool but not egregiously so. Or maybe he was, but he couldn't tell. He did know he now lacked a certain warmth from not having a pumping heart anymore.

But, Ron though, turning his attention back to the matter at hand, he could dwell on that later. For now he had to find a meal - and fast, judging by his quickly-growing thirst. Over the past few days his throat had begun to feel like a piece of fruit drained of its juice, crumpled, flattened, dry; it made the heartbeats of the people around him so much louder. But, he could- no, he would- no, he _had_ to, bear it. For his family, the ones he was supposed to protect.

Sometimes he would go and sit on the doorstep of the Burrow, just waiting, watching, observing the mild rustling of the crop fields around him. It was a comfort - a guarantee that Mordecai couldn't sneak up on him when he was staring blankly at whichever pages of a book he had forced himself to read purely for the sake of doing something.

He surveyed the scene in front of him: rows upon rows of shelves, all sealed and cooled, with packets sitting inside of them, the harsh grey and silver of the thick metal bars and thin handles standing out from the neat red contained in reinforced plastic bags, white labels to match the insides of the chilled rooms setting apart the bags. At first glance they all appeared to be the same, however the letters and other information quickly removed that predisposition.

"It's- it's like a bank, or a library, but for... blood," Ron breathed out. "All... separated."

"I know. Impressive, isn't it? And rather easy to steal from."

Ron reached out an arm for the nearest one, which upon further inspection appeared to hold numerous bags all in a stack and tugged open the small door. It pulled out like a tray, displaying the blood to Ron like food on a silver platter.

He had never been one to turn down food, no matter how odd. And this certainly qualified for unusual.

It was a small piece of solace, a saving grace that this had (hopefully) been given by choice, Ron thought as he tore open the packet. He stared long and hard at it, feeling something inside of him shift as the salivating scent hit his nostrils and stroked his tastebuds and waited no more before lifting the bag to his mouth, and taking a long drag that quickly transformed into him attempting to down it in one.

He was a starving man, desperately hungry, choking back the the blood like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted in the entire world, in his entire life - that was until he felt an arm like a vice curl around his upper arm and hiss, "Slow down... savour it," and attempted to comply. But it was difficult when he was so bloody hungry, and the blood was so fucking amazing.

It revitalised his muscles, coiling them like springs and tightening the hinges of his brain until he felt like he could do anything. _Anything_. His throat was reformed, his heart reinforced with concrete, thoughts clear cut like the sting of an arrow. Everything was clear now; he could take down the whole damn world if he wanted to.

His life had been coated in technicolour, and he _never_ wanted to go back. It hadn't felt like this the other two times; because of the girl, maybe? He blinked and saw her in the forest, bright yellow top bland and broken in the dark earth, blood-stained from top to bottom. Hair tustled and thrown to one side, displaying vicious tear marks running along her neck and arm and pale skin. Blue eyes stared unblinkingly at the sky above.

But none of that mattered now - he could brush it aside, push it to the back of his mind until he ran off this blood-high.

Suddenly, though, he was brought back to Earth and snatched from the stratosphere by a voice beside him.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Said Mordecai, knowing expression on his face. "I know, I felt it too. I still feel it, after every time. It's intoxicating." There was a wistful look in his eyes, and for once Ron could sympathise. Every other moment he didn't have blood running through his system was a moment wasted, torturous and filled with obselete longing. 

Ron grinned so widely it almost hurt, the smile splitting his face in half and vision blurring as he stared at the stacks of blood, of sustenance, of pleasure, around him. "Can I have some more?" He asked dreamily.

"Yes, but only one more. I need some too, and taking more than four packets will attract attention."

"And we don't want attention, do we?"

"Shut up and get the blood, you drunk."

The second packet went down almost as smoothly as the first, Ron salivating in the taste and looking longingly at the rest of the blood the moment he had finished. He wandered over to one see-through vault, hearing Mordecai shuffle around in the background presumably getting his own meal and practically pressed his face against the glass, no breath misting on its surface.

"Can I please have some more?"

Mordecai rolled his eyes at Ron's whining, shaking his head. "No." He tore open a corner of the packet with one elongated tooth, immediately draining it and humming contentedly.

Ron barely supressed a shudder. It seemed inhumane for something so cold and unwielding as Mordecai to enjoy something, to gain some kind of sick pleasure. Like Voldemort sipping the tears of children he had taken and then destroyed, bodies tattered and torn but at least _he_ could enjoy their sacrifice, their admissions of pain.

Ron swallowed, tasting wet, heady warmth on his tongue. Perhaps they weren't so different after all, Mordecai and him. His face crumpled, sinking from the high like a stone plummeting to the bottom of a well. Submerging under an intoxicating heaviness. Except Ron was resurfacing.

Shaking his head frantically, he backed away from the display case waving its product at him. "No. I don't want anymore."

Mordecai finished his second packet and tossed it aside. "There we go, the righteous Gryffindor's back."

Ron scrunched his hair up in tufts in his hands. He couldn't believe that for a second, even just a second he had considered throwing aside his beliefs just as easily as Mordecai had discarded the empty packet just for some blood-born bliss.

His family would be ashamed they had raised someone so weak.

This was why he couldn't tell them.

They made their way back home in silence, the blood churning uncomfortably in his stomach like a snake - a very delicious snake. Ron sighed; he knew Harry and Hermione would be getting here at some point over the next few days.

Would they be able to tell the difference?

The next morning, he looked in the mirror, red eyes swirling into blood like they had been painted over, and sighed, a bitter taste radiating across his tongue like the blood had done last night.

He disgusted himself sometimes; the way he had gorged on the blood like a ferrel animal. But maybe it was just in his biology now. Engrained in his magic. Whatever it was, he hated how bloody well good it made him feel.

He headed on downstairs, eyebrows furrowed and deep in thought.

Fleur was right - he didn't know what he was doing, and at some point he was going to slip up again.

* * *

This- this would certainly put a spanner in the works, Ron thought worriedly as a very angry werewolf growled at him in a haze of red-hot fury. There needed to be a better word for it, really. Like shout-thinking. And that he certainly was, admist pointless (since he couldn't damn well breathe anyway) hyperventilating.

" _What are you? Who sent you?_ " he hissed out, something animalistic deep in his amber eyes stirring and rearing its head. Ron's eyes widened.

"No, no! It's- you know who I am!"

Remus' grip on his collar tightened, and he raised his hackles. "Tell me who you are, _vampire,_ before I tear out your throat!"

Ron struggled, too roughly for Remus to be able to snatch his wand and requiring all of Remus' attention and strength to keep him back, the suffocating hold ineffective in its ways of incapacitating him but useful in the way it pinned him to the wall. He could hardly wheeze out his words.

"No, no... it's- it's still- Ron!"

Visible shock lanced through the man's expression, and his grip slackened for a moment, but then it tightened again. "That is exactly what an imposter would say," he growled lowly. "Now, reveal your true identity before I _kill_ you-"

Ron lay there like a crumpled leaf for little more than a moment, before his senses came back to him. What was he doing? Clearly Remus wasn't going to believe him any time soon, and Ron wanted to get him off... so the only logical conclusion was to push him back by brute force, something that, thanks to his recent transformation (more than recent, really) he had plenty of.

Summoning something unbeknownst to him prior to this moment, Ron halted his frantic scrambling at the wall behind him, trying to forgo any leftover human instincts to pay attention to his breathing, and clamped his palms onto Remus' hands around the base of his neck; not harming him, but restraining his effectively.

Roughly, he began to pull them back, Remus implementing more force just to have Ron match that and set the balance off-kilter. It was all a balancing act, really: Ron would tug off the werewolf's hands only to have them come back down with twice the force, and then would pull them back again.

Finally Ron seemed to gain a bit of ground, snatching the other's hands away and using brute force to elbow himself out from underneath Remus. Panting rapidly, the wolf didn't waste any more time and promptly tried to push him back up against the wall, but Ron finally got a hold of his wand and pointed it out, not exactly sure what to do but observing the way the wolf's eyes followed it warily.

"Don't take another _step_ ," Ron warned him coarsely, positioned with his wand pointed directly at his jugular and his body tightly coiled to move at any moment.

Remus didn't seem to have forgotten all of his human instincts. "Just tell me who you are, you filthy vampire. The rest of the Order will be arriving soon, so you have about two _seconds_ to tell me what you did to the poor boy who's life you stole-" his face crumpled slightly at that, but he continued on with a fierce passion, "-or I will kill you. Or, you'll be handed back to the Order. I'm not sure which would be better for you." Almost as an afterthought he too reached for his wand and pointed it back at Ron.

He shook his head rapidly. "No, Remus, you really don't understand - it's still me, it's still Ron," his voice faltered on the last word, as though he himself doubted his words. "I just- I was turned," he bit out quickly.

Remus visibly froze. "Turned? As in like-"

"Yes, turned as in I was bitten." Gravely Ron shifted his collar to the side, displaying the two small indents at the base of his neck.

Remus took a step back, wand still pointed high in the air below his neck, making the shabby, grey sleeve of his robe ride up a little. "You're lying. Ron Weasley is no vampire, so _who_ are you-"

"Yes, he is- I mean I am-"

"Prove it, then," said Remus quickly. "Tell me something only Ron Weasley would know."

"What?" asked Ron flusteredly.

"What creature did you face during the boggart lesson of third year?"

"A spider. Ac-acromantula to be specific," he stammered, watching as Remus' expression shifted to something unreadable.

Then, he frowned deeply. "So... no, no, it couldn't be, I need something more specific-"  
"There _isn't_ anything more specific," said Ron, who was now growing more irritated. Anxiety still swirled around his stomach like a disease, but he tried to swallow it down. "I- I was turned. A few weeks ago. No, my family do not know and I would like to keep it that way. Nothing to-to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?!" Remus exploded. "That's plenty to worry about, if you are really you-"

"Which I am."

"And how do your family not know? I think if I were Molly I would want to know what happened to my son."

"They just don't, all right-"

"And how did this even happen?" Remus scanned him warily. "And you said a few _weeks_ ago?" He took step back. "So you're... very new to this."

"Er, yeah. You could say that."

He frowned, still looking uncertain. "And you don't seem very... affected by it."

Ron shot him a dark look. "Trust me, I am."

The other man was looking more confused by the second. "So- so hang on, let me get this straight - a few weeks ago, you were turned into a vampire. By who?"

"It doesn't matter."  
"Yes it does."

"Fine then, I don't know."  
"You don't know? Weren't you curious?"

"Yes, very," said Ron with a nod. "But he isn't so fond of questions. More threats."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "So you have met him, then? You just said you had no idea who he was."

He paused. "The less you know, the better."

"Why?"

"Because it's my business, not yours. You just have a good nose."

Remus scoffed. "You're _sixteen_ -"

"I will always be sixteen," Ron argued. "And it's better if you keep out."

"Fine." Remus' jaw was clenched, and Ron very much doubted that he was happy with this, but he would have to put up with it.

But Ron couldn't be sure yet.

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his hair, a gesture he'd probably picked up from Harry. Stupid bloody gesture - it always ruined his hair, and his actually sat still most of the time.

He collapsed into a kitchen chair, grateful the rest of his family were out today on Order business (or were they shopping? He couldn't remember) and wouldn't be back for a few more hours. He sighed again sufferingly; it seemed the meeting had started early this time.

How had this happened again?

"How'd you know?" Remus was still standing a few feet, looking guardedly unsure. Ron rolled his eyes. "Come on, I don't bite. At least not your kind." He held up his hands. 

Remus leaned against the kitchen table and folded his arms across his chest. He didn't look the least bit amused by the joke. "It was obvious from the smell."

"Of what?"

"Blood."

"Oh," Ron said shortly. It made sense, after all, especially considering where he had been last night. In fact, he was still rather torn about that - one half of him was glad that the method didn't end up being so violent in actuality, but then another part of him worried about where the blood came from and where the blood was supposed to go.

He tried not to focus on that, but rather the fact he hadn't killed anyone last night by accident.

Ron tried to rein in his panic. "I can't do that yet. Sense things, I mean. I don't know when I'll be able to."

"Neither do I. I haven't met many... vampires." He exhaled. "Ron," he scannedhim with wide eyes, clearly still in a state of shock. "How in the _fuck_ did this is happen?"

If he hadn't nearly been out of his mind with worry, he would've snorted at Remus, haggard Professor Lupin swearing. But it only petrified him more.

He tried to dissipate at least some of the panic, by clenching his teeth and wringing his hands, but it didn't seem to be working. Not judging by his trembling fingers. He swallowed harshly.

_Pull yourself together, Ron - don't be weak, don't shake under the pressure. Just... just answer the question, or something._

Fat lot of help his inner voice was being. He faced Remus once again, minus the help of his usually steadying inner stream of thought with a tumultuous expression. "I was attacked," he admitted heavily.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Do you know who it was?"

"No." Yes, yes, lie; if he had learnt anything by his experience with Fleur, it was not to bring Mordecai into this.

"Really?" He asked sceptically. "Didn't you feel a pull to the one who sired you?"

"You what?" He frowned.

"The one who turned you - most vampires I've talked to said they felt a strange pull to the one who bit them. Something about their blood calling to them."

"Sounds weird."

"Yes, I thought it was."

"And didn't you say you hadn't met many vampires?"

"I said some - not many. I've met some."

"All right."

The werewolf frowned, not letting go of the subject. "So you just got turned, and didn't follow the attraction-"

"Ugh, don't say it like that," Ron said, thinking of Mordecai's grungy face.

"-Fine, but you get what I mean - so you haven't tried to find out a single thing about who made you like this?"

Shame soured his tongue. "No-"

"So you did everythihg by yourself?"

"No, I-"

No, you what?" Said Remus sharply, and Ron knew he had screwed up.

Shit, the man was ruthless.

He sighed. "I did meet him. I had to, really: the hell else was I going to do?"

"Tell your mother, maybe," Remus said and Ron huffed exasperatedly.

"I can't, I've already- I've already- well, I've done a lot."

"Such as?"

"I dunno, what things like me do?" Ron muttered, wincing. Remus looked concerned.

"What, like drink blood?"

He hesitated, but this was one truth he couldn't get around. "Yes, exactly like that. What do you think my Mum would say?"

"She would think you were an idiot for not coming to her sooner, but she'd know what to do."

"But she wouldn't! How could she, the Order hate people like me-"

"That was what I thought," said Remus quietly. "I honestly thought I wouldn't be allowed to join with James and Sirius." The atmosphere sobered even further than it had done at the mention of the man's former friends. "But Dumbledore understood, he said I wasn't dangerous to others. At Hogwarts and-" Suddenly, he stopped speaking, eyes snapping up to meet Ron's.

"Hang on," he said lowly. "What are you going to do about Hogwarts?"

"As terrible an idea it sounds, I'm going to try and finish at least this year, and then the next too if I can." He paused and eyed the other man worriedly. "Aren't you going to tell me what a terrible idea it is?"

"I have to admit, it's dangerous," Remus fiddled with the frayed sleeve of his coat. "But you education is important, NEWTs especially so. You should still get the chance to finish school despite any challenges."

"Sure." Truth be told, he wasn't that bothered about finishing Hogwarts or what grades he got (since he wasn't exactly looking at a normal human lifespan here) but, well, he didn't think his mother could stand another Fred and George.

That and Mordecai couldn't get into Hogwarts. Also, he still wanted to be able to see his friends, and as a human. It was all-round far easier to be a human rather than a vampire. Less restrictions, less hassle. He had his ring and his glamour and as long as he didn't run into some particularly mouthy creature with enough sense to sniff him out, he should be fine.

"I know what I'm doing," Ron scoffed, itching to wipe the smirk off Remus' face. He glared at him. "I have a plan."

"I'm sure you do."

"Yeah, yeah that's right, so just leave me alone."

"And can you deal with your sire on your own?"

"What?"

"Your vampire sire is speaking to you, yes?

"And I imagine he's not being too nice if he turned you into a vampire, since that's not something you can just do accidentally."

Ron was quiet. He couldn't find out about Mordecai - he didn't want a repeat of what happened with Fleur, before.

He sighed, and switched his gaze up to meet Remus'. "Look, can you just keep out of it? I have everything covered."

"Are you sure? It's a lot for a sixteen-year-old boy to take on-"

"I'll be fine," he cut out a little more harshly than he had intended. "Just... please."

Remus moved away from the kitchen table, and crossed his arms, and fixed Ron with a cautious expression. "You know, if something is going on - and I mean more than what's already going on, more than you can 'handle'," he said, "no matter how dangerous you think it is, you can tell me."

"I... no, thanks."

"No thanks?" He frowned deeply. "I don't know _what_ I'm supposed to do with that..."

"I- I just mean that you don't need to do anything," Ron stammered. "It is dangerous, I suppose, and no, my sire isn't very nice, horrible actually, but there's really nothing I can do about it. He's a lot older than me, and more powerful, as he has demostrated many times," Ron muttered darkly as his hand ran absent-mindedly across the top of his shoulder, remembering previous injuries.

He snatched his hand away as he noticed Remus staring.

"Right," the other man muttered. "So things are getting bad, but you don't need help with it?"

"Er, yeah."

"Does anyone else know?"

Ron practically jolted. "No. No one at all," he replied quickly, before sighing. "Yes. One other person."

Remus looked curious. "How have you managed to keep it quiet for so long..? Anyway, who?"

"Who else could figure out what I was?"

"That doesn't exactly narrow it down."

"Fine, Fleur."

He frowned. "Who?"

"Delacour," Ron said exasperatedly. "One of the Triwizard Champions from a few years ago-"

"Yes, yes, I remember now, I read about her in the papers but-"

"She's marrying Bill- yes, that was everyone else's reactions too, and she stayed with us for a few days. She's part veela, and figured it out after a few days. But she never said anything."

Remus considered his words for a moment, before pursing his lips and staring out of the window at the cloudy sky above. It might be August, but it was still England. He turned back around.

"And she just... let you go? Just like that? From what I know of her she doesn't seem like the type."

"Well... she agreed to on one condition: that she could meet Mordecai."

Remus nodded slowly, piecing together quickly who Ron was talking about. "...Your sire."

"Yes."

His jaw tightened, and the werewolf faced him with eyes hardened like blunt opals. "Well," he said calmly, but with a steeled edge. "I'd like to come too."

* * *

"You know why I didn't take you there last time?"

Ron almost sighed heavily, only just managing to mask it in time; he was almost home, only a field standing between him and the Burrow, not counting the gatekeeper preventing him from leaving.

"Why?"

"Because you always have to be prepared. There might not be a handy place like that, and you might be forced to go and hunt again." He glanced up at the stars, reviewing them with lithe enthusiasm. "You need blood at least once a week. More depending on what you do, less if you can handle being weak and bearing temptations."

"We'll go out and hunt again - properly. And... I wouldn't kill anyone this time if I were you."

Ron didn't even have to question it to find the threat in Mordecai's sharp words. Tonight, he knew, he had gotten off easy. Next time he might not be so lucky.

* * *

I'm sorry that this took so long. Had something come up this week that delayed the chapters (oops). And yes, yes, I hear you - you were all waiting for Harry and Hermione to come to the Burrow, but next chapter, I promise. Probably. Not sure, actually, but I should have it all worked out by the time you read this yay.

Thanks for reading! And a special thanks to those of you who have commented and kudo'sd ;)

-Tea33.


	12. Battles Meant To Be Won

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Twelve: Battles Meant To Be Won

Things were entirely fucked.

The afternoon had started out rather well, Ron having finally managed to inscribe runes on the backside of Ginny's mirror so his reflection would appear in it too. And then, just as he had been staring blankly at the sink in the bathroom for the fourteenth minute in a row, he had heard the door open. The motion had been slow at first (and don't ask Ron just how he knew that, he was a good few floors away, he wasn't going to think about what was amplifying his hearing). He had gone downstairs, curious about the guest and how they had gotten in before he had been roughly pushed up against the nearest wall.

It had all happened so fast - unnaturally fast. Which had been the first clue that things were, once again, not normal (really, when were they ever though?).

His first terrifying thought was that it was Mordecai, that something had happened and he had somehow gained access to the Burrow and was here to-

But just one glance had revealed that it was in fact Ron's former teacher pinning him back, effectively restraining him with such strength he struggled to fumble for his wand on the counter.

_Stupid, stupid, should've kept it on you, this is why things go wrong, why are you so unbelievably stupid-_

Panic scrambled his brain as he struggled against Remus, the professor's hands at the base of his neck; it was enough to hold him down, but not enough to hurt too much. Honestly Ron was just grateful the man had been too preoccupied holding him back, because if he'd been able to reach his wand, if he had shot a spell at him, possibly a lethal one before he could explain himself...

It was a good thing Ron was practically indestructible.

But now, he had two people wanting to meet Mordecai to deal with. And he used the term 'meet' very loosely, as in to blanket over the fact that the three would most likely all try and kill each other. Tonight. The deadline was creeping nearer, like thick smog blocking the future and preventing him from seeing tomorrow - that was like an elusive dream at this point, dwarfed by the threat that tonight's confrontation would bring. He just couldn't see past it, any way out that didn't end in bloodshed.

Fleur and Remus versus Mordecai.

Well, hopefully - there was no saying it couldn't evolve to Fleur versus Remus versus Mordecai. All of them were talented, all of them good with spellwork as shown through Fleur's participation in the Triwizard Tournament, Remus' foray into teaching, and then Mordecai's horribly above-average duelling capabilities. Those had been demonstrated during Ron's nightly meetings with him, where he had routinely been squished like an insignificant bug on the kitchen floor.

But hey, he had improved. More often than not Ron found himself actually able to hold his own (at least for a little while) against the formidably more skilled vampire. At least... at least one good thing had come from this. Ron hoped everything would sort itself out quickly, or at least by the time Harry and Hermione got here; it would be difficult to hide staying out all night, and then dragging his attention back from the depths of his spiralling thoughts would be even trickier than that.

Ron Weasley had never been one for succumbing to his mind, something Hermione and Harry would definitely notice. They would realise that something was (terribly, in his opinion) wrong with their best friend if he was staring into space all the time, so that left him with only one option - hide it, of course.

Coming clean and no doubt doubling his troubles was _not_ an option. Blech. Too messy. Too many lives at stake and too many issues that could come from that.

So he would stay in the shadows for a little longer... and hey, it wasn't so- so bad in here.

Ron sighed heavily, and so did his reflection in the mirror; a perfect copy, a doppelganger just as frowny as he. The same floppy ginger hair, smattering of freckles and blue eyes as always. He snorted in spite of himself.

Who was he kidding... no one would be able to tell the difference. Or, at least they would never guess the truth. It was simply too ridiculous. Hell, Ron himself still had trouble believing it.

He had until tonight, when Remus and Fleur would meet him by the gate, the border that separated the Burrow from the outside world, which although had missed him off the list still did a pretty damn good job keeping the bad guys out.

They'd had the security tightened the other day. Kingsley had come round, Ron offering a meek hello before escaping up to his room to observe what he was going to do, which turned out to be stretching the barrier from the front door to the fence running around the house and a good chunk of the property. Ginny had been happy since it didn't impact her Quidditch practice, whereas Ron's gut had been churning with panic about whether he'd be shoved out of the tightening wards like a stamped-on slug.

But, Kingsley had come and gone with no issues, leaving his mother most pleased.

"I'm glad that's done," said Molly cheerily, stirring a mug of tea before frowning slightly. "Dumbledore thought it would be better to just stretch it outwards more, not change any of the properties and spells involved because Merlin knows we have enough of those..." she shook her head, lifting the mug up to her lips in cupped hands. She smiled at Ron wearily.

"So nothing to worry about, dear. The Death Eaters won't be getting in anytime soon," and then she had ruffled his hair (and mucked it all up too). The thing about the Death Eaters was good, but the the most important part to him was that nothing had changed, really.

He just thanked whoever the hell made it so Ron hadn't had to do the whole can-you-let-me-in-the-wards-except-you-don't-know-who-you're-really-letting-in charade again. It would have been thoroughly annoying to have to come up with an excuse as to why he couldn't enter the bloody gate, not to mention suspicious.

It also didn't impede upon Ron's sneaking off tonight to meet Fleur and Remus (and he really needed to; who would be the negotiator here?) So they could go and chew out Mordecai, be chewed out by Mordecai or... or just all spontaneously combust or something. It really wouldn't be surprising at this point.

They would all be meeting tonight, at the edge of the paddock. Remus had demanded it, with no exceptions, and Ron... he caved. He knew it was a similar situation like with Fleur - if he didn't let them go along, it would destroy the small inch of life he had managed to gain back since his was turned upside down that fateful night. There was just so much that could go _wrong_ here, regardless of whether everyone else found out. Maybe he should just do it, he had thought. Maybe... and he didn't want to let himself hope too much, in case everything went wrong, but maybe things would turn out all right, and they would beat Mordecai. And then what? Would he tell his family what he was?

Oh Merlin. He hoped they would beat Mordecai. He wanted them to win against that bastard, and crush him into the mud.

But then would people still react badly to the idea of him being a vampire?

He imagined something deep in his mind was suddenly being unearthed and thrust into the spotlight - to his family, and friends. He cringed back away from that idea, desperately dragging the knowledge with him and burying it back into the crevices of his mind, at the very back of the broom shed on the Quidditch Pitch. He flinched.

No. He wouldn't reveal himself yet - not until Mordecai was gone, and unable to threaten him with keeping quiet.

Ron blinked, the view of his shoes swimming back into view. He flexed his feet, and sighed heavily. Remus had left around half an hour ago (maybe it had been longer?) And so far Ron had done with a sum total of nothing since then, choosing to yet again stare into space. It suited him fine, since the most interesting thing going on here was all in his head. It was like Quidditch matches, or when him and Harry went to the Chamber of Secrets... everything narrowed down to one stream of thought, consuming all other brain function until he was left a hollow shell of locked-in adrenaline and worry.

If he had still been human, he would be exhausted, and even as a vampire he was mentally drained.

Of course the people around him could see it. Of course _they_ were worried for _him_. But no one could help him for this. He wouldn't let them be dragged into his mess because he couldn't fight someone off one night. He just hadn't been _enough._

Harry probably could've done it. Thrown a spell in the nick of time that blasted Mordecai away so he could scramble back to safety with his life intact. But instead, it had to happen to Ron. Stupid, stupid Ron whose only talent was saying something dumb at the right time and making everyone crack up. The stupid sidekick.

A sour taste congealed in the back of his throat, and he swallowed. He wasn't being dramatic - he was being truthful. Even a stupid sidekick had ears, could hear what everyone at school said. What he knew everyone must think. At least the incident at the Department of Mysteries had made him look a bit less useless.

And he didn't hold Harry against it: how could he? It would just be selfish and rude to ask Harry to dampen his own abilities so that Ron wouldn't feel so insignificant about it; what would be better is if _Ron_ became better, so he could at least be on par with Harry. And not to make himself look better, just so he could actually fight back against a threat and not be useless lump in the corner. He could've done more - last term, in the Ministry, and then against Mordecai. He had just let himself get into this situation, be manipulated and threatened. And now he was stuck in this stupid situation, because he was too weak.

He couldn't even keep one bloody _secret._

* * *

That night, he met them. He looked into the mirror with a kind of fierce resignation, trying to wipe the utter terror projected onto his pale features, because he needs to toughen up for this. He couldn't be whimpering like some scared kid when they're all facing Mordecai.

He brushed a hand across his forehead, swiping his fingers through his fringe and glancing at his reflection again. He forced his mouth into a set, grim line rather than a downturned frown, and gripped the sink. Gripped it so hard small cracks began to set into the porcelain.

Another thing - he's stronger, faster too, if he's not mistaken. It's the blood, he just knows it is, and Mordecai had mentioned something about this before. He also said that Ron's need for blood could grow stronger, which was... frightening. Especially considering he had to go back to school rather soon.

But he couldn't think about that right now - currently, he had some kind of battle-facedown going on that he needed to attend.

Ron released a shaky breath, feeling it uselessly compress its way out of his lungs, then made his way out of the house.

* * *

"So, you weren't lying." Remus said, eyeing Fleur with some reservation.

"Obviously."

Fleur wasn't looking too impressed either, twisting her wand in her hand and adjusting her long, flowing robes. "I was not aware someone else knew about zis."

Remus flashed his eyes at her. "Neither was I. I only found out earlier today." He looked suspicious. "When did you find out?"

"A- I've known for a few days. Per'aps a week."

"And you didn't think to tell anyone?"

"You 'aven't either!"

"Because I'm taking action, right now. Mordecai won't bother Ron again after tonight."

"What?" Ron finally breaks into the conversation again, Remus and Fleur now bearing grim looks and gritted teeth towards each other. He frowned at them. "What do you mean? What are you planning to do?"

Remus sighed. "You don't have to protect him, Ron. You owe him absolutely nothing."

"I know, I'm not trying to protect _him_. I don't give a damn what happens to him, but he threatened my family. He could hurt them if I try to do something-"

"We 'ave ze Order, Ron. A lone vampire cannot take down the entire Order of the Phoenix."

"Why would they back me up, though? Why? Knowing what I am, what I have to-" he almost choked on the word. "-Eat?"

His eyebrows slant downwards, drawn into a frown. Remus' eyes hardened.

"You're not a monster. There are ways to get what you need... safely," he said, but Ron could see the way he hesitated. Remus sighed, like he could see what Ron caught. "None of this is your fault, Ron."

He scoffed, Fleur turning toward him with coarse, silver hair that shone in the moonlight, and spoke again. "It doesn't change anything, though, does it? No, it's not my fault, but it's still up to me to fix it."

"Well, you're just going to have to let us help," Remus told him sharply. He glanced over at Fleur, offering a quick nod; she returned it.

"You're not going to do zis alone."

"I'm not sure I have a choice," Ron muttered, but to quell their still somewhat hesitant expressions he nodded at them curtly.

He was going to take their help. Because some part of him wanted it, despite the fact he still thought this was a colossally bad idea.

Fuck it. It wasn't like he could stop them anyway.

Remus released a slow breath. "So," he said, half a mutter, "Where are we going?"

He blinked for a few moments, mostly just surprised Remus was willing to have Fleur added to the plans so easily before answering. "Er - down there." He pointed in the vague direction of Mordecai's dubbed 'lair', or the patch of trees he would lurk in during both the day and night, Ron joining him for the so-called training sessions.

At once Fleur and Remus began striding down the bank, under the mask of darkness, the windows of the Burrow behind them vacant and cold and leaving Ron to scramble behind silently in their wake. They look tall and imposing; Fleur striding along boldly with arms swinging, Remus more reserved with his head hunched slightly and whipping round to every sound in the distance; both clearly on their guard with hands clenched tightly around their wands, and Ron's the same. His knuckles were so resolutely curled in an iron grip around the wood that he wondered if it might splinter entirely.

It probably would, considering his new strength.

They steadily approached the edge of the woods, the direction of Ron's stare bouncing across every branch highlighted in the moonlight, every pronounced blade of grass, every frail leaf twisted up in its siblings. Each flower half-dead and messily crumpled from the dry weather, curved in on itself and on borrowed time.

The scene was splattered with charcoal shadows, sketched in dark greys and blacks and every flavour of indigo blue, earthy brown and green that in the light should have been healthy, but here festering in the darkness was a slumped pile of dye. The moonlight bleached every patch of ground it hit, constantly fighting the nighttime gloom for each square and drenching what it had in effervescent vibrancy, only a tad more sketchily shadowed than in the day.

In the daytime the sun would wipe it all away again, bolstering through the canvas of the surrounding fields and laying its claim across the suffocating multicolour brightness. Sometimes it hurt Ron's eyes as well as prickling along his skin like slim, subtle needles.

But in that moment, it was shrouded in shadow, and emerging from that was a lone figure almost as hazy as his surroundings. He blended in well, Mordecai did, to the things around him. Effortlessly sliding in amongst the dark and befriending it. Ron unknowingly gulped as he drew nearer the group, making out the twisted smirk first of all. Slowly, Mordecai began to clap, fingers hardly touching yet producing a chilling sound that reverberated around the field like apparition did.

Ron wanted to learn how to do that, too. Soon if it were possible. You never knew when you needed an easy escape. But then he would have to wait until he was seventeen for the Trace to lift, and he wouldn't be able to do anything until then.

He paused a good few feet away from them, Fleur and Remus stood in front of Ron with their wands raised. He felt small, in that moment, like he needed protection. Like he was a frail child tucked away safe behind the strong adults.

Bullshit. He may have only been sixteen, but Ron was confident he could hold his own. So, he held out his own wand in one outstretched arm like it was a bright baton of courage, the warmth coursing through the wood and flowing through his fingertips and let it drag him forwards to stand level with them. It created a direct link between his brain, screaming thoughts circling inside his head to protect, to attack, and to protect again. To throw up a shield then disarm Mordecai and drive so many spells into his body he could hardly remember his own name.

Ron's anger had always simmered beneath the surface, cooling more in recent years, but now, it surged to life. Mordecai narrowed his eyes at the three standing in front of him, united.

The clapping paused, and he pressed his slim fingers together, levelling Ron with an oddly calculating look.

"Finally cracked, then, have you?" He said cruelly. Ron gritted his teeth, but said nothing.

His smirk grew at Ron's mild countenance, and Mordecai spoke again, the words sharp and cutting. "And who might you two be?" He said, gaze (finally, oh finally) moving away from Ron. "Oh _yes._.. the werewolf hiding from his own nature, and the veela too practised at abandoning hers. How terribly disappointed your ancestors must be in you."

Fleur's cheeks flamed, and she repositioned her stance, quite obviously braced to attack Mordecai. Remus took the opportunity to talk to the vampire himself, whose jibes had only produced a mildly interested look from Ron's former professor. "What do you want?"

"Nothing that concerns you," he replied smoothly. Mordecai paused. "I'm just doing the job I was paid to do."

"So you were paid to stalk a teenage boy and draw him out to a sketchy clearing every night?"  
"I was paid to turn some kid into a vampire and train him, by the sort of people you'd expect to go after a Weasley."

Now this sparked anger in Remus' eyes, and he gritted his teeth, it taking him longer to formulate an answer this time around. "What will it take for you to leave him alone?"

"I'll only be here for another month. What's the point of fighting when I'm leaving anyway?"

"Because eet's not right," Fleur hissed, who had recovered from his earlier statement. "You cannot get away wiz zis."

He looked bemused at that. "But why do you _care_? Did you not hear, I'm leaving soon anyway, what's the poi-"

"It's the Order's job," Remus cut out sharply. "We dispose of those that think they can take advantage of others. No one forced you to be this cruel; you took it upon yourself to terrorise a child."

"Yes, and that child's been particularly quiet, hasn't he?" Mordecai said with a wicked glint in his eye he turned on Ron, who swallowed.

He doesn't feel nervous. Sure, there was an odd swirling in his chest, but he ignored it. He couldn't afford to lose it now, when they were so close.

"I think... you should just go. Leave me alone."

"Oh, do you?" He practically laughed in return. _Laughed._

"Leave me _alone!"_ Ron growled, unable to hold back anymore, and barely a milisecond after his shout hits the surrounding air, he's sending a hot blast of light, like a lasso over to where Mordecai stands with the intent of cutting him, of slicing his skin.

His arms. Ron wants to get his arms, deftly rip the skin from his neck down to the wrist until blood spilled out like a tidal wave.

He blinked, and saw the girl laying motionless in the forest surrounded by crusted dirt and her own slippery blood. He blinked again, and it was gone.

This was his fight. And he was going to start it.

But Mordecai dodged it easily. "Well, I suppose that settles it then." He turned his head to the side, tone ringing with challenge and deceit. "Shall we get to the fighting?"

Remus growled, and slung out the next spell at a speed that shocked even Ron, who was used to the frighteningly fast duelling speed of Mordecai, and the fight, true to the vampire's word, begun.

* * *

"Ron!" Fleur yelled, eyes widening and narrowing in on the large slice across his face copiously leaking blood - courteous of Mordecai, of course. It wasn't open for long, shortly after the damage was cost the cut sealing itself and only leaving behind a smear of blood.

She paused, blinking. He hadn't even _stopped_ , continuing to battle like nothing had even hit him. It was the same with Remus. The two should've been an unstoppable force, and then with Fleur added to the fight it should have been over the moment the three transferred all of their energy onto the target in front of them.

It should have been easy. But Mordecai was fast, slipping through the darkness and swirling it around him like an indistinguishable cape. He had no wand, but magic flowed from his fingertips like malleable sparks, twisting to its master's will infallibly, and digging holes in the opposing side's barriers like a beetle would a wood wall.

He's just too _fast_ , Ron despaired, watching as a spell of his curved through the air in a great arc and ended up missing Mordecai entirely; he's already slithered closer to Remus, who sends glittering beams from his wand with a hurried shout and manages to lodge a few in Mordecai's skin securely.

He shrieked, and pelted three stunners back at the werewolf all at once with one intricate hand movement, who growled and flattened himself to the ground in an effort to avoid them. He sprung back up to cast a shield charm to block yet another triple-sling of red-hot stunners.

Fleur took the opportunity to sweep her arms around in a clockwise motion, forcing earth out of the ground and up, up into a lumbering typhoon of dirt, all directed at Mordecai. The bastard closed his eyes for a second, and, after the ringing bite of apparition appeared a few feet away. But- and oh, this was glorious - Ron noted his arm was bent in the entirely wrong direction, dark liquid staining what was left of his scraped sleeve and trickling out onto the yellowing grass.

He had splinched himself in his efforts to escape the tide of erosion, which had now crumpled back to the ground and slithered back to where it came from. Mostly. The delight of Mordecai fucking up so terribly in such a critical moment was quickly covered by looking around at the battle _still going on._

The site had already suffered large gouges caving out of the landscape, a tree uprooted by a wayward spell or two and thrown halfway across the field, scattering leaves and grass and plants alike. The ground was scarred and rumpled, dirt and rocks strewn almost everywhere and Ron thought half of it had ended up on his clothes he was that dishevelled. Remus and Fleur looked almost the same, the latter sporting a black eye and Remus looking mightily hungry to beat Mordecai in the duel.

He wasn't sure what excuses they had used to get away for the night, or whether they had simply slipped away into the night like a wayward cat. Like he had.

No one knew this was happening, either. Like every night they practised Ron could feel the thick glamour in the air, clashing with his own that he dutifully kept up, Mordecai would use a larger-scale concealing charm to mask the noise and bright lights of the duelling. And it worked, too - no one in the Burrow was ever woken by it.

Ruthlessly, Mordecai pulled his arm back in place, a gut-wrenching sound erupting from the cracked bone as it healed almost immediately. The hesitation, the preoccupation with fixing his arm, one of his vital wielding weapons in this fight had only taken him a few seconds - but it had been a few seconds too long. All three of them seized the opportunity - even though it could have backfired, and burned them all - to launch their own spells at Mordecai. Remus swiped his wand around almost in a figure of eight, seeming to gather up the surrounding air to let it course like an arrow, more of a missile straight at Mordecai's face; Ron, on the other hand reached deep into his skill-set and conjured a long, whip-like dark brown cord, cracked like a tree trunk and one striped with sharp spikes sure to dig in, draw blood and stay there.

Fleur began the motions of what looked like a spell to force Mordecai down to the ground, but he intercepted it, narrowly missing Remus' arrow (or not: Ron thought he heard a tight hiss from the enemy) and turned it back on her, roping in Ron's restraints to pin her to the spot, the spikes digging in deeply and a few mere centimetres away from piercing her neck. Understandably she began to panic, writhing and grunting against the opposition as she tried to point her wand from where it was practically strapped to her back.

He felt his heart plummet into the bottom of his feet. Ron surged forward, preparing another spell when Remus held up his hand. Telling him to stop. Telling him to give up. His chest heaved listlessly, despite the fact he had no need for the air coursing through his body, giving the man such a terribly hollow, flat expression that somehow conveyed the anger spurning him to keep fighting until Mordecai lay incapacitated on the ground like Fleur was.

She grunted, and Ron turned round to free her, except-

"Ron! Stop!"

He whirled around, eyes flashing.

"How can you say that, when Fleur's- Fleur's-"

"No! Don't move, not until he lets her go," Remus gestured to Mordecai jerkily, and Ron glanced over. He looked... _tired,_ for the first time, his usual visage of chilling put-togetherness gone. He was gasping, blood and dirt spat out from his mouth and splattered across his ripped outfit, more tattered than usual. The long, patched coat he had sported on every occasion Ron had seen him had a large tear across the shoulder, material hanging halfway down his arm.

But nonetheless, his eyes were as cold and hard as always, and he had one trembling arm held up, the other gripping the slit across his shoulder whilst it (presumably, but Ron wasn't sure whose or what spell had done it) healed. His hand shook, but there was something about his curled fingers, the grimy nails caressing something in the air... Ron turned, and finally saw what was going on.

One length of the almost plant-like rope, each inch covered in spikes (the rope he created, he thinks, heart somehow plummeting further) strapped right across Fleur's throat, seconds away from puncturing the skin and killing her.

 _Killing her._ Ron... he- he knew it was selfish, but all he could think was how _he_ couldn't have another death on his hands, couldn't handle the thought of having more blood caught underneath his fingernails, the stain creeping up until it poisoned his heart and the decay became visible for everyone to see.

He dismissed that train of thought with an absent shake of his head. Why bother; it already _had_ happened. It was simply the glamour that kept everyone else from seeing what a tepid, hollow thing he had become.

But he pushed that away for now. They had to get Fleur free.

"I'll kill him," Ron bit out, but again Remus stopped him.

"Don't," he hissed in warning. "He can kill her faster than we can disarm him." The werewolf glared back at Mordecai, not bothering to hide his disgust.

Then, he called out to him. "Let her go."

Mordecai's face remained impassive, even when Remus' eyes lit up in cavernous flames. "Why- why would I do that?" His words skitter and stumble like spooked mice in his obvious exhaustion, depleting all of his energy just to hold Fleur back and Ron can feel ice crawling down his spine.

Here, he sounds alone. Simple. There's no big army backing him up, no skillful spellwork threaded with intimidation to petrify Ron into obedience. He's just a man, in a torn jacket with an unlined face and tangled locks. He almost looks young here, in a field scraped and hollowed like a battlefield but still carrying memories of red-headed children playing tag. Racing through the reeds, their magic dancing around them as they dance with the forest around them.

The trees, they speak. And the little red-headed children would babble back. Just over there Ron had been running when he heard a noise, sped up in his fear. Imaginary sounds and whispers had exploded in his ears, causing him to take a covert route only someone who had spent their childhood here would know of. He ran down it with the idea that this was _his_ place, _his_ sanctuary from everything. Where he could sit content and talk to the grass and the rocks and the trees all he liked.

That illusion was torn from him as easily as Mordecai's fangs had sunk into Ron's neck that night. He had screamed and cried out, but all that answered was the moon that lit up the pathway home. And he took it, trembling and afraid and something coursing through his veins that he didn't know. A strange substance, one that changed his entire identity as he knew it.

Afterwards, he was different. Everyone knew it, but not what. They did not know what changed. And if it were entirely up to Ron, he would keep that part of him, the one that didn't shine in mirrors or coat in sunshine hidden behind a mirage forever. An illusion kept up to please himself and the people around him.

He could feel it all melting away; the fear, Mordecai's own illusion that he was the only option. That he was the only way out - the only one who could _help_ Ron. He could feel it all collapsing softly, so softly for something so monumental. It was like a dam unhinging its grasp on the riverbed and slowly floating downstream, caught up in the murky depths and clear stream of water that you couldn't even see it anymore.

It sunk deep into Ron's consciousness, until he couldn't remember why he had believed it in the first place. The deceit, the lies.

He was sixteen. A teenager. And usually one adept at sniffing out bullshit, too. Maybe it only worked when there was someone there to see him, but this time there had been a light missing, a candle snuffed out when it should have burned its brightest.

He was told something, and rather than choosing to question it (truly, and not merely at face-value) he had gone along with it. Been manipulated and threatened and beaten until his soul was twisted and crumpled and defeated.

Defeated. He wouldn't let it happen. It was all falling away, clearing the way for something clearer and brighter altogether. Feeling stronger than he was, he pointed his wand directly at Mordecai and spoke with courage.

"Let her _go._ "

As if dredging back a mask, Mordecai leered at Ron. "So, you finally speak, do you-"

"Stop it. Stop pretending; I can see you shaking. If this battle keeps going, you'll lose. You'll lose, and we'll kill you." There's no chill that comes from the threat, because Ron's heard it a thousand times but from the other side. He can also hear - and see, too - Mordecai visibly swallowing. His eyes darted from side-to-side, assessing how he can escape from this situation.

He looks almost afraid. And Ron feels nothing but a twisted pleasure, and underneath that fear for Fleur, who's gone suspiciously quiet.

"It's three against one, Mordecai," Ron said with the air of a jeer. He's jeering at Mordecai, with a curve of his grim expression. "Let her go. It's not worth it."

"I have a job to finish," Mordecai repeated, but his words were empty.

"You don't need to finish it. I know what I have to do."

"If they find out I didn't do what I was told, they'll kill me."

This time it's Remus who cuts in. "And that's why you should never get involved with Death Eaters."

He laughed. "You're right, you know, werewolf." Remus bristles at the name, but said nothing. "This is more trouble than it's worth."

"Then let her _go._ " He would do it himself, but Mordecai's grip on the spell is too much. But it was slowly weaning.

Before anyone could say anything else, Fleur's bonds suddenly break free, and for a second Ron thinks it's because Mordecai agreed to let her go. But from the sudden flash of terror on his face, he knows he would have never set her loose like that.

She broke out herself, suddenly hissing vehemently, her features hardened and (for a moment he thought they actually warped, but that couldn't be possible) she hurled about four electric blue hexes at Mordecai at once. Ron takes some initiative and curses a few licks of flame to chase after them, and Remus throws some kind of charged red bolt, which Ron takes a guess to be a particularly enthusiastic stunner.

Mordecai saw the lot coming toward him, the air around the spells seeming to crack with the tension, and spun on the spot into nothingness. Going, going, gone.

And Ron hoped it was the last time he ever saw him again.

* * *

Well. Big chapter (I think - I hope?). Lot o' stuff happened, y'know. Sorry 'bout the mini hiatus; just writing up a few more chapters in advance for this story and my other one too. Also I went on holiday (it was good) and did some other stuff like google Turkish gods. 

If you guys have any questions about the direction of the plot, characters, whatever, please PM me. Plus, I am certainly not J.K. Rowling, so please don't sue me.

Thank you for reading and, I don't know, consider smashing out a review for me.

-Tea33.


	13. What Now?

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Thirteen: What Now?

Ron just sat there, mind surprisingly still apart from one thought pinging around it like a broken pinball machine. Maybe he was still in a state of shock, he wondered dejectedly. He looked down at his hands, and saw them scraped with mud underneath the nails and dried blood caked across his knuckles and up his wrists.

"Ron?"

Remus' flat voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he saw that he had a metal flask held out to him, the gesture making it clear what exactly he was asking. Something to pick them all up after the battle.

Distantly, he frowned; something just didn't sit right with him about taking what he presumed to be alcohol from his previous professor.

"Am I even allowed that?"

Remus seemed to come back to himself, blinking at the proferred flask. "Oh. You're right. Sorry, forgot." He turned to Fleur, and shook it slightly, the liquid inside churning a little. "You want any?"

The non-stop foreign warbling under her breath stopped for a moment, before she snatched the flask off Remus and swigged it all back in one, quite a feat considering how exhausted they all seemed to be after the fight. Ron knew he was, even if his bones didn't ache and his muscles didn't groan in protest like they did after particularly difficult Quidditch sessions. He was still tired to the bone, though.

She dragged a hand across the back of her mouth and tossed it back to the werewolf with a slightly wobbly fumble.

"You Eenglish, zis stuff is rubbish..." she sighed to herself, like she regretted switching back from French. "Need some proper stuff, can't hold anytheeng down-"

"Well all right then, if you didn't like it you didn't have to drink it all," Remus muttered lowly - Fleur didn't look bothered in the slightest - before seeming to tire and scrubbing a hand over his scarred face.

Ron went back to poking a sodden leaf on the ground, letting his earlier panic and adrenaline and fear simmer into the background.

It was over. Mordecai, the big villain had been vanquished (hopefully, and just saying that made a sharp ache stab into Ron's chest), and most of Ron's troubles had... gone away. He sighed, and felt the breath settle onto a bed of weightless gratification.

He was happy, extraordinarily so, but just so tired of it all.

Sort of. Because he was still a vampire, if one who didn't have to listen to his evil vampire sire anymore, and one with blood on his hands. Literal blood, at the moment, thought Ron as he scraped at the crusted crimson still spread across his palm.

"Scourgify," someone muttered to the side of him, and Ron saw it had been Remus out of the corner of his eye as he watched the stain slowly ebb away; not entirely, but enough so that only a shadow remained. He glanced up and saw Remus watching him cautiously, a reassuring, tame expression on his face with one corner of his mouth

"Are you... alright?" He asked.

"I dunno," Ron shrugged. "But I'm glad that's over-" (In the background, Fleur said rather loudly, "'ear 'ear!") "-At any rate."

Remus nodded. "Me too. What are you going to do now?"

"Hm?"

Fleur cut in over the top of Ron's mild confusion. "'E's going to tell 'is family, of course."

A cold breeze blew threw the small patch of forest they had headed to as soon as the fight was over, each of them perching on some blasted apart tree stump or sliced up ledge, creating a makeshift place to talk, and Ron practically froze.

Oh _no._

What was he going to do?

"What _am_ I going to do now?"

"Tell your family," said Remus, without missing a beat.

He sighed. "And how do you suggest I start that conversation?"

"Just tell them the truth." Remus tucked the flask back into the folds of his cloak, expression hardened by a tight-set frown and layers of pinkened scars running across his cheeks. He glanced up at Ron with a slightly weary gaze. "Just start talking, and don't stop until it's all done."

"Remember, you 'aven't done anything wrong," Fleur echoed from the background, nodding at him with significantly kinder blue eyes than in the battle.

"In fact, you were quite spectacular against Mordecai. That was some expert duelling, Ron." Remus sounded so much like a professor again it made Ron want to laugh. But he held it in and settled for a self-deprecating smirk.

"Shame Mordecai was better," he remarked.

Remus grunted in agreement. "Shame indeed. But we did beat him, in the end. He apparated off, the coward, when he was backed into a corner. I'm just glad he let you go so easily."

"Me- me too," Ron replied. But something caught in the back of his mind. "But what if he comes back? Tonight, or tomorrow, or-"

"He won't. And if he does, you get to us and we'll sort it out again. Probably with your family too, I'd imagine they'd want to help if you were in trouble again."

"You can't know that."

"I do. Arthur would never abandon his family."

Ron swallowed down his next words: that he wouldn't be probably wouldn't considered his son anymore once his secret came out, but he knew Remus would only tell him the opposite. And should he believe him?

Merlin, he was just terrified. Whether they would kick him out the house and disown him, or they would simply stare at him with an unending well of pity and... cry. Like his mum did about Percy when she thought they weren't looking.

"Ron," it was Remus, his eyes on the rapidly lightening sky above. "We have to go back now." Fleur stood up, drinking in the lukewarm sunlight like a drink.

"No," he said sharply. "I want to do this alone. Can you... go?"

Fleur looked surprised. "You're going to do eet?"

"Yeah." Glumly, Ron began stepping up to the house, spirits only lifted slightly by the fact that all the lying could stop now. "I'll write to you both later, but I want to do this alone. Can you let me have this?"

He glanced back at Remus, whose expression was stern, but he eventually nodded hesitantly.

"Fine. It's not the responsible thing to do, but-" and he looked torn, "-yes, maybe you should tell them alone. As long as you tell the entire truth."

Ron thought of the girl in the forest, and decided she wasn't part of his story. "Sure. Not like anything else would make sense, to be honest."

"Yes. Fleur?"

Snapping her head round to meet them, her eyes flashed. "No, absolutely not. I'm coming with you."

"No, Mum'll kill you. Did you forget about that?"

"Eet's all forgiven-"

"Maybe, but she holds a grudge, Mum does. I don't want to take the chance that she'll try and pin it all on you or something. And, like I said, it's my story to tell and I want to do it. Can you respect that?"

After a long moment, she nodded, and Ron almost sighed with relief.

"But we're going to talk to them after." And although it was Remus who said it seemingly without conversing with Fleur, she nodded too. Quite vigorously.

"And are you okay? And- and you, Remus?" He said to the pair, thinking of how Fleur had been strapped down earlier when Mordecai repossessed Ron's conjuring. Luckily the deep red line stripped across her throat had been easily healed, and whatever the hell had been in that flask had calmed some of the leftover panic of being overpowered like that (if only for a short minute or two before she took it back), but whether that was enough to stop her feeling rattled he didn't know.

She nodded curtly. "Yes. Now go - it's nearly dawn."

Remus nodded too, all right despite the various scrapes littered across his outfit. Supernatural healing Ron supposed.

He glanced at them both warily, wondering if he was really going to do this, trying to accept that this chapter of his life sneaking out to the field may he closing and just thinking about what the hell was going to come barrelling into his life next.

He began to walk. Alone. But, by choice.

He was really going to do this, wasn't he?

The door swung open quietly, Ron stepping in before closing it behind him again, minus any kind of squeaking. He had mastered the art of sneaking out the house _completely_ , he thought, sighing to himself quietly and glancing at the shadows around him.

He had forgotten to listen out for any kind of noise, but he quickly picks up on the telling swish of fabric at the top of the stairs. Ron spun around, already having gone for his wand and holding it tightly in his hand ready to atta-

No. Oh, Merlin no. Ron's eyes widened almost comically, mouth opening to form wordless shapes and then shutting again, because at the top of the stairs the other three members of his family stand at the top of the stairs, all clad in dressing gowns.

It was his mother who approached first, mouth set in a grim line as she stepped down quickly; her eyes flashed dangerously as they settled on him and filtered through the dark, and then collapsed into concern and worry. It lined her face like thinly-sketched cobwebs in the early-morning shadow.

"Arthur," she said breathlessly, pressing into her husband's shoulder, "get- get the lights, Ron he's-"

Bleeding. Hurt. Injured. No one needed her to finish the sentence, and as soon as his mother had begun talking Ginny had clattered down the stairs to come and stand behind her, hair clashing with a pale coral dressing gown.

"Where did you go?" She asked, blue eyes identical to his raking over his face nervously. Behind them his dad waved his wand, and suddenly the room was flooded with light again, warm reds and wooden tones making Ron's eyes ache after the constant darkness.

His mother gasped, and his father placed his hand on her shoulder, moving closer and gaping at him too.

"What- what happened?"

"Ron? Are you all right, dear?"

"Are you hurt? What did you do, you idiot-"

"No, I'm fine," he mumbled.

Ginny faced him with a look of incredulous disbelief, something her tone reflected. "You're obviously not. Right, this has gone on long enough." She turned to face their parents, whose expressions were a mix curiosity, anger, and fear. His mother's brown eyes were crumpled in concern.

"Ron?"

His sister huffed, and shot him one last stern look before announcing to his parents, "Ron's been sneaking out every night for, like, a month. I thought he was meeting up with some girl, but obviously not," Ginny eyed his mud-stained, torn, bloody visage.

Well, it had been worse. But there was only so much a scourgify and a repairo could do, and since the rest of his family were never up at this hour he had decided to chance it.

So much for that. He was still jittery with nerves from the earlier battle, the joy of victory unable to entirely overpower that earlier anxiety, and this wasn't improving it whatsoever.

His mother practically squawked with indignance. "You what?!"

It's a similar tone to the one she used when Fred and George would talk about their joke shop. Ron cut in, trying to defuse the situation.

"Look, I can explain-"

"You'd better, young man!" She has her hands on her hips now, eyes lit up with livid energy and his father's not much better.

Arthur shook his head. "This had better be good, Ron. You shouldn't be sneaking about in the middle of the night, _especially_ not in these time, and- and look what happened to you!" He sounded appalled, something usually left to his mother.

Ron swallowed at both of them

"What did happen to you?" He said, that niggling sense of doubt in Ron's head burrowing out and whispering about how they would never believe him, how they thought he was weak and stupid and worthless for not being able to keep his secret. For not defeating Mordecai earlier.

"I- I can explain, really. And I'm not hurt, look -" he wiped a hand across his cheek, bringing nothing back but dried blood. "It's all healed."  
"How?" Asked his mother suspiciously.

"I'll tell you. And you don't have to worry about this happening again. It won't, not after tonight." He said solemnly.

"Just get on with it," Ginny demanded, and Molly hushed her daughter for being too raucous.

"Let him take his time," she muttered, and then looked back at Ron.

"Okay. Go."

And then, he did.

* * *

He wasn't quite sure how to start, but he decided on something in the end. Maybe it was the right thing to say, the thing that would save this whole thing, this mess of a conversation already...

and maybe it wasn't. Maybe Ron had already fucked up, his family already inconsolable, already thinking of a way to get rid of him. Their stares weren't kind - they were predatory, the kind blue all but a facade meant to trick him into opening his mouth and start giving them _evidence._

He wanted to run away. Ron didn't want to do this, his mouth closing up just thinking about it, his pulse hammering against his eardrums-

except... except it wasn't. Because he didn't have one, and he was a monster, and he deserved this. Remus and Fleur would probably kick down the door to throw the truth at his family whether they liked it, and Ron wanted to be the one to break the news to them.

Maybe they wouldn't be so angry that way?

Hopefully? At any rate, he still needed to do this. Ron tried to memorise their faces quickly in case it was the last time he saw them all. Did he have a picture of the whole family? He thought s-

Ginny guffed again, and Ron looked up from the very interesting patch of floor he had been studying for the past few moments; okay. No more stalling. He needed to do this.

"Er. Well, I suppose it all started about a month ago."

"When you started sneaking out," Ginny prompted him, and their mother peered at him. For once, she was silent, along with the rest of them.

It was quite eerie.

"Yeah. I was- um, attacked."

"Attacked." Their father's eyebrows were drawn together, slanted. "By what?"

"I didn't know then, but I- I gathered after it bit me," and he shifted his t-shirt to the side, how he knew would reveal the two small indents at the base of his neck, a token of that night. "Vampire. And- and that's not the only thing." He hesitated, glancing at each of their faces. "It- it turned me, too."

The room went silent. Entirely silent, too silent, a kind of clinging quiet that made a ringing go quietly in his ears. He looked up, not knowing what to expect, whether it would be three wands all turned against him or-

Stone. Their expressions could have been carved from granite, frozen: Ginny's eyes were wide in alarm; his father's eyebrows still slanted, unforgiving, and his mother still stuck in some realm of concern. Maybe it hadn't hit them yet. Ron couldn't blame them - it took him much, much too long to come to terms with it himself.

Mrs Weasley spoke first, the noise barely a whisper.

"So. You were-" she gulped. "And they did- to you?"

Ron nodded. "Y-yes."

"And when you were ill, when you couldn't eat anything - that was-?" There are tears shining in her eyes now, the light brown glassy and enlarged. It makes it harder to look her in the eyes, a twisting kind of sickness pulling in his stomach that _he had done this, he had upset his family, it was all his fault, all his fault, what a fucking idiot-_

But his mother sniffed loudly, and a tear slipped down her cheek seemingly unbeknownst to her. "So you were going through all of-" her sentence broke off, making way for another tear to slide down her face, "-that, and we _missed_ it? We didn't notice?"

"What?" Ginny's voice is hollow, the small smile creeping onto her face entirely too collapsible. "No. No, Mum, of course he's not actually, don't be ridiculous. You were j-just bitten and- and attacked, and it was terrible, but that's all it was, right?"

They're all looking back up at him again. "False alarm?" His mother prompted thinly, voice feeble.

For a second he wanted to lie to them, to tell them it was all going to be okay and watch their facial expressions relax again. But he's a bit sick of lying.

"I wanted it to be so badly I didn't face up to it for a good day or two... until I couldn't ignore it anymore."

"You're wearing a glamour, aren't you? The whole time you have been," it's his father, finally, expression unreadable and his tone even more so. It just sounds sad, dejected.

Ron nodded slowly, and his sister's interest peaked.

"I don't believe you, Ron," said Ginny thickly. "I- you're just being silly, you're not a-" and then she screamed, jumped back in panic, bumped into the nearby wall and sunk to the floor, shaking. Because Ron had stood up and shifted the glamour, the curtain hiding what was underneath thrust forward into the light. They saw deep red, like a forbidden gem, ruby out of place where there should have been sapphire. And then they stared at him like they couldn't quite believe it.

And then the moment was gone, and Ron was sat back down again, with the correct eye colour this time. His mother gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth as the flood of tears became gargantuan, unmanageable, and stumbled out of her chair as she squeaked, "I have to make a call. I'm sorry. The Order." Before quickly making her way into the kitchen and a more composed Ginny in her wake.

His siter shot him one last look before she left - a kind of terrified disbelief like she didn't know who he was anymore.

Something was pulled taught inside of his chest, aching every time he moved. And he did, lurching out of his seat again to try and stop them from-

"Ron!" His father's hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder, definitely not enough to hold him back if he wanted to go, but enough to shock him out of his instincts.

"Where are you going?"

"Why are you calling the Order? To- to- to kill me or something-"

"No, of course not," he shook his head vigorously. "Because you were _attacked,_ and turned into- you know." He couldn't seem to say it. "A- um, vampire. It could've been Death Eaters."

"Probably was," he admitted after a beat. "Mordecai, the one who turned me - said it was a paid job. He didn't know and he didn't care who ordered it, just that he got paid."

His dad's expression is strained, still collected but the tightening of his hand on Ron's shoulder a dead giveaway to his loosening restraint. He decided to go on.

"I didn't tell you because of him too. He threatened me. He had been watching all of us for weeks, I think, because he knew exactly what you did and when. Like he knew exactly your job and where your office was, where the twins live, Percy... everyone."

"It does sound like Death Eater activity, if he had that much information on hand," his father replied tightly. "Did you know who he was?"

"Other than the name, no. He- he wasn't a fan of questions."

"So were you going out to meet him every night."

"Yeah. Threats to kill you all if I didn't, and I didn't want to accidentally kill you because I didn't know what I was doing with- with all of it."

His father went silent. "And tonight? What happened for that-" he gestured at the state of Ron, "-to occur?"

"Got rid of him," Ron said quietly. "Me and a few others. Think he's gone for good now, but I'm not sure."

"Who were the ot-"

but he was cut off before he could finish, his mother coming back into the room to tell them, "The Order's coming. I told Mad-Eye, and he rang in everyone from there."

His father beckoned over his mother, and they both stepped outside, quietly muttering to each other like they had done last year when they were talking about the Prophecy.

Ron was left alone in the kitchen, out of the corner of his eye glimpsing Ginny slinking away up the stairs.

Had he- had he really done it?

* * *

"-Need to keep the boy _contained_ , if he tried to use his situation to his advantage-"

"What the hell are you saying, Mad-Eye, it's my brother we're talking about here!"

Ron shifted closer to the floor, body curled uncomfortably on the edge of his bed; his shoulders perpendicular with the floor and his knees hooked up by his pillows.

"He's not your damn brother anymore, Bill!" He could hear the formidable ex-auror growling through the floorboards, almost like he was right beside him. Ron shuddered at the thought of that before sticking his ear back to the ground so he could listen in on the conversation again.

"How can you say that? He's not- we've lived with him for a month, and nothing happened, everything was fine-"

Mad-Eye huffed in agitation at Arthur. "It was only a matter of time, then." Suddenly Ron could hear a stumping, thudding approaching and could only guess it was Mad-Eye walking out into the hall with his heavy wooden leg beside him.

"Where's the suspect?" He asked (growled) roughly.

"Suspect of what?" It's Remus this time - voice steady as always - who throughout the entire meeting had actually been rather quiet, which Ron suspected was due to the fact he had known (if only a few hours) and hadn't said or done anything, like ringing up the entire bloody Order over the floo. Which was what his mother had done.

Fleur was at the meeting as well, but she too had been quiet. Maybe because she had seen for herself how not 'over it' Mrs Weasley was and wanted to avoid that. Ron couldn't blame her. And it would be easier to keep them out of it now the threat had been (hopefully) neutralised.

"You don't think it's suspicious, hm, that this _Mordecai_ with the Death Eaters has just disappeared? When he's been tailing Ron for weeks?"

"He was forced-"

"Forced my arse, Remus, he's still here. Only that bloodsucking vampire wants us to think he's still on our side-"

"No, he really is gone, at least for the meantime." There was silence; Ron presumed at least one person shot him a strange look. Remus elaborated. "I helped get rid of him."

"And me," comes Fleur's silvery voice from

Oh, so now they're saying something? Did they coordinate all of this? Ron grumbled and leaned in closer again - it was difficult to hear through several floors with all the other things going on (the fire, the clock, the birds, _oh,_ the _bloody birds_ ). But Ron overhearing their conversation hadn't really occurred to them. Or maybe it had, and they didn't care. But would the Order really trust a 'bloodsucking vampire'?

"Fleur? You didn't tell me about that," said Bill.

"It was quite recent, and Ron didn't want us to. Mordecai had been threatening him with intimate information about all of you-" and he imagined him indicating toward his family "-and he was- he seemed quite rattled."

"I thought something was wrong, "said Molly hollowly. "But I never- I didn't-" her voice suddenly shut off, and harried footsteps clattered out of the kitchen and into the living room, the door shutting behind her as she walked out and closing again once she begun pacing near the fireplace.

Ron had the decency to block that out. He wasn't sure he was going to like what he head, anyway.

A second went by, and Arthur went out to join her, and for the second the door was open Ron heard sobs.

Guilt twisted like a dagger deeper into his gut. _This was his fault, all his fault, he made his mother cry-_

"Bit stupid of you-"

"I think not," said Remus, effectively cutting off Mad-Eye. "You'd never help a vampire, you said so yourself. So what would be the point?" Everyone was silent. "I am sorry about not saying anything earlier, but we're here now. And besides, you've all seen the Ministry's revisions to the creature laws; if things were bad before, it's nothing compared to now."

"I think things were going to end badly no matter what you did," said Tonks quietly, and Ron didn't think he imagined the sudden uptick in Remus' heartbeat.

Mad-Eye sighed tersely. "Whatever. I don't care. But where is he now?"

After a beat, Ginny broke the ensuing silence by muttering, "Upstairs."

A short, screeching of machinery. "Yes. I can see him now."

Ron was glad he had straightened up, after nearly falling off the bed in his surprise. And then, without waiting for another indication from the group Mad-Eye began plodding upstairs, each heavy bootprint closing the distance between him and Ron. He also heard a quiet rustling, an obvious unsheathing of a wand.

"Mad-Eye! Don't you think we should talk about this more first?" It's Remus. His father was still in the living room with his mum.

"No, Remus, there's no time to wait - who know's what he's planning, what intel he's gathering to take back to the Death Eaters?"

"Don't you think you're getting carried away?" They stop, and Ron finally feels like he can (could, if he wanted to, the choice is really optionable and it's still so difficult to get used to) breathe again. "He's just Ron. He's just a kid, I taught him for a year - he's completely h-"

Mad-Eye lingered for another moment before marching onward, practically shouting over his shoulder: "And that boy is dead. Ron Weasley is _dead._ And if I find out you didn't at least lock him in, I'll-"

"Stop!" It's his father, finally having emerged from the sitting room, and he's stood at the bottom of the stairs (Ron thought, just going off the echoes) and his voice is loud, commanding, and enough to stop Mad-Eye in his tracks.

He heard a defeated sigh. "Just stop. Go home, all of you, go on. This- this is my family's business, please leave. Now. When I called you earlier, it was just to notify you of the situation; I wasn't inviting you all down here. Please _leave._ "

His eyes widened. He'd never heard his father speak like that to - anyone, really, but the Order seems to get the gist and gather their feet, trooping out the door one-by-one until it's just Ginny, Ron, Bill, and their parents. Fleur was about to sidle out too, but Ron heard his father calling her back and telling her, "You're family too. Or you will be soon enough... you can stay."

Ron swallowed. They all wanted to speak to him, them against his family. They were cornering him, isolating him - removing any witnesses, they didn't want anyone around to see this, the heartbreak, the dysphoria, the shattering of a mirror, a hollow mirage-

He thought it was lucky he didn't have to breathe anymore, because he was completely choked up.

But they still hadn't moved - or maybe they had, he couldn't tell in the moment - and still they were edging closer. Ginny, with her roving, twitching brown eyes flickering in fear; his father, still upholding a kind of steadiness even in his rockiest of moments, and his mother, who had been shaken to the core.

And still hadn't emerged from the living room. Fleur and Bill had gone in there, presumably to comfort her.

Ron decided to go out there before he was dragged out on his knees- but if only there were a way to shut off his damn mind, still going at three hundred miles a minute and pelting more thoughts at him every second, each one faster than he could even process and more disturbing than he could imagine.

Sometimes, in the very thick of it, it felt like the room was vibrating. His teeth were fizzing, tongue too heavy, head too fuzzy and spinning and spinning and spinning until he was too dizzy to remember his own name. Breaths were lost amongst the jumbled mass. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, or his roiling stomach would finally revolt and he'd lose the contents of his lunch all over the floor. He just hoped blood wouldn't turn up in the mix.

It had changed, of course, since he was bitten. But there was still that same numb tinge at the base of his neck that kept him in a bubble of panic and slowly suffocated him over and over.

Still, he got up and opened the door, and walked out onto the landing. Silently, as was his custom now, but Arthur's kind blue eyes flicked up to meet him almost immediately, moving over his still torn and bloody outfit. Everyone else had changed, the Order all turning up at the crack of dawn after Molly's call.

Where would he be now, if he had glamoured himself? If all his family had seen was a slightly ruffled Ron sneaking home late at night? Would they have jumped to the same conclusion as Ginny, that he was out with a girl? Would things have, after a little scolding from Mrs Weasley, perhaps, gone back to normal? What if-

No, no, there was no point doing that. If he went through the whole list of 'what if's', he'd be here all day. ( _What if he hadn't been bitten, what if he'd run home in time? Used the right spell? Told his family right away, spared them the tears and the heartbreak by just- by just-)_

Exactly. Better to get things over with than getting sick with worry and cut up on the details. Even as he said that, though, he could feel everything inside curling up and cringing in shame, demanding that he run as far away from here as he can-

And digging through it all is the piercing gaze of his father, his brother, his sister. Fleur. Blue, blue, brown, blue. And if his mother were here, another shade of chocolate would have been added to the list.

But she wasn't. And in its place lay a sickeningly dark, blood red, stripped bare and laying out for all of them to see.

He was done with the glamours, the illusions. And it might make them flinch, and it might scare the hell out of them, but fear was already a constant in Ron's life, so why not?

"I'm not with the Death Eaters," he said, and his father eyed him levelly. "Really, I'm not. And neither was Mordecai, I think - he was just in it for the money."

"How do you know that?" He replied.

Ron shrugged. "I just do. He didn't seem like the type to form alliances, so when we tried to force him out he went quite- quite easily."

Arthur scanned his clothes again, and Ron grimaced.

"All right, it wasn't that easy, but it still worked."

"What was the plan, then? For Hogwarts?"

Ron met the resigned sadness in his dad's eyes, the kind that usually only presented itself when they got talking about Percy.

"Send me off... sneak me off weekly to go and get... what's necessary, and then at some point I'd have to leave for good. To go with the Death Eaters, or whoever paid for me to be bitten."

His father released a slow breath, and suddenly Ron could see behind the barricade in his eyes, the fear devouring the azure colouring from the inside out.

"And you didn't say anything?" His voice cut out for a moment, and he looked down, glasses sliding down his nose. Ron faltered further. "Still?"

"I didn't know what you'd all do. I was- still am, really, scared. I just didn't have a clue what to do. I _don't_ have a clue what to do."

He stared at him for a long moment, beaten frames slipping down his nose, and sighed.

"Well, I honestly don't know if-f you'll still be able to do that - go back to Hogwarts, I mean."

He felt a sinking inside his stomach at his father's words, and was sure his face reflected that, but his dad's gaze was as steady as ever, though; never faltering.

"We'll have to see what happens once Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore g-get here."

"You're... going to tell them, too?" His father didn't answer that question, and he didn't exactly have to. Ron's eyes dropped to the floor, to the mildly grubby carpet on the landing. He supposed they would have to know, too.

But he just couldn't imagine ( _oh, but he always could, his imagination wasn't to be underestimated_ ) McGonagall's stern gaze turning to pitying warmth, the sparkling in Dumbledore's eyes sputtering out, or increasing... he was a strange man.

Would they let him continue school with his classmates? Or would he be homeschooled, or something... maybe-

but how could he even start with all of that when he didn't know if he would be allowed to stay in the damn house? His family in tatters, his mother in pieces, Ginny holed up in her room. His father facing him with a narrowing stare that made it feel like he was being scrutinised meticulously for every move he made.

"I-I have to, Ron. You know that." He eventually returned.

"Yeah, I suppose-" the sound of a door opening along the hallway rang out through the air, and his sister poked her head around the frame. Her eyes widened as they landed on him.

"G-Ginny, um-" he's lost for words. "I'm sorry for... I- earlier. For scaring you."

She visibly swallowed, and took a shaky step from her room.

"It's fine," she said breathlessly, and of course Ron caught every word. She dragged a hand through one long strand of her hair. "Yeah, you just caught me off-guard, is all. I'm all right now." And she nodded to cement her point, like it did much to take away from the fact she couldn't look him in the eye for longer than a few seconds.

"You- you sure?" He moved closer, just a step, but it was enough to send his sister back five, all the way back into her room. She sighed, and reappeared.

"I'm sorry," she said, tears glistening in her eyes. "It's just a lot to get used to."

He swallowed. "I know."

"And you actually are, right? A- a vampire?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"How do you know?"

"Oh, I'm certain. And besides, it's been a month. I'd have died if I didn't have..." He glanced at his father. "What I needed. Er, blood."

Ginny just stood there and said nothing else, looking at him with a gaze as immovable as tar. Infectious, too, it seemed, his dad looking at him too like he wasn't sure who was standing in front of him.

Ron wasn't entirely sure either.

* * *

Things'll start cutting down next chapter. Already had this written and decided to leave it. Plot will be getting faster too, hopefully.

Also, before the comments start flooding in that the Weasleys would never react like this or whatever - stOp. Story's not done (sorry), they haven't gotten over the initial shock, hold yee horses.

But thank you for telling me your concerns, everyone :). Loved all the extra comments I got last chapter, it was really great.

-Tea33.

But, holy shit, the amount of comments I got on the last chapter. Thank you guys so much!


	14. Untruths

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Fourteen: Untruths

"So, Mr Weasley," began McGonagall, after clearing her throat rather vigorously. She looked quite uncomfortable stood beside Dumbledore, opposite Ron, the ticking of the clock behind her punctuating her every word. "What are your plans for furthering your education?"

Ron blinked. Surely this wasn't a question - he wanted to continue at Hogwarts, obviously. "Er, Hogwarts. I still want to do the last two years."

For a moment, she looked hesitant, before shooting a furtive look at the headmaster, who was stood like a sparkly beacon in his pale mauve robes against the wooden background of the Burrow's kitchen. It was so odd to have him in his kitchen, the clock still ticking away in the back of Ron's mind and a pensive expression on Dumbledore's face that clouded his blue gaze.

His family, (just Bill, Fleur and his father, since his mum and sister were still in their rooms. He couldn't blame them for freaking out at first; they just needed time to adjust, Ron had tried console himself) were sat in the living room talking about Merlin knows what.

He could make a pretty good guess, though.

"I'm afraid that might not be possible," McGonagall responded calmly.

He stilled. "What?"

"We're... just concerned about the other students, Mr Weasley," her crisp tone doing nothing to steady the nerves swirling unbidden within his mind. He could practically hear Mordecai's voice, _didn't I tell you they wouldn't let a vampire in Hogwarts?_ Ron always thought the madman had been wrong. But... was he?

He wondered when that voice would go away. It had only been a few short hours since Mordecai had been pushed away, but it felt like an eternity. His life before being turned had always been odd, even for a magical one - and then after that fateful night when he had been bitten, things went bad.

Entirely off the fucking off the rails, in fact. But again, after telling everyone what had really happened to him everything had shifted again. His world was upended, _again._ Torn up and mashed back together with all of the eloquence of a toddler. Puzzle pieces moving into place he hadn't even known existed and creating a picture Ron couldn't have anticipated in his wildest dreams.

"I- I can't go back to Hogwarts?" His voice was thin, strangled, and again a voice clanged in his ears telling him to get it together, and to stop being such an impertinent child. Mordecai was gone; things were good again, peaceful, quiet. But so far, the quiet had been almost suffocating. Things hadn't gotten better now that the monster was gone, that the threat had been extinguished.

Ron wanted to scream until he couldn't hear himself anymore.

Dumbledore peered at him through the wrought gold frames of his round lenses, and adjusted them; the odd, striking thought gone from his head was gone almost instantly with a distraction. "Were you hoping you would be able to?" He said slowly.

He swallowed and licked his lips. Unecessary, but out of habit. "Yeah. I know, it's a bit- well, dangerous, but I wanted to finish school."

Professor McGonagall nodded, like she understood. "Right. Well, if that's not possible I am happy to organise a tutor for you to come here instead."

He pulled a face without thinking much of it, and she raised an eyebrow.

"Um, I- I'd prefer the first option, if that's all right with you." He backtracked. "But it's not, is it?" It was written all over their faces.

She pursed her lips, and stood from the kitchen chair, beckoning Albus over.

"We're going to have a word outside. Wait here for a moment, Weasley," she told him before they went into the living room and cast a spell behind her, making it so that all Ron could hear was an irritating buzzing that grew louder when he tried to focus in on it, completely muffling their conversation.

Well, maybe they had learned after the disaster of an Order meeting this morning, in which he heard every word.

After Ginny had slunk back to her room, and Ron proved again that he was what he said he was yet again (they still couldn't entirely believe it) and his father had coaxed his mum back his room to rest (shooting him a look that Ron found entirely unreadable), Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore had turned up. At the door of the Burrow.

The complete bafflement he felt at seeing his teachers on his doorstep quickly vanished when they asked to speak to him. And then they were here, discussing the possibility of him never returning to Hogwarts.

It frightened him rather a lot. Not the sharp, pungent kind of petrification like he had felt when Mordecai was staring him down, but a bubbling anxiety that simmered like poison. Bleeding into his throat and tying it up, seeping into his legs until they felt like lead. Completely coating him until he was sure fear permeated his every pore.

But he boxed it all away. Pushed it right to the edge of the Quidditch pitch up in his head, and told it to shut up. It worked a little. He could at least hold on until he got to his room again, where he would sit there and ignore it some more.

But honestly, he was glad the Order had left again. On the whole many of the few who came were quiet, and those that did express their opinions were not fans of Ron's new form. Half of them practically expected him to turn around and kill them at any moment, he could tell just by their heartbeats.

And that was the scariest thing of all - what if, the hunger grew to be too much? If he just snapped one day? If the flimy wall of his morals crumbled, and he drained them until they were as empty as he felt, until their eyes were as empty as the girl's - Del, the other one with her had called her, short for what-

He shuddered, and raked his hands over his scalp, harder than necessary. It didn't matter though, he could hardly feel it. Ron didn't blink for the fear of what he might see when he closed his eyes.

Merlin, it all just hurt so much sometimes.

The door opened, Dumbledore and McGonagall's conversation apparently over, and he hastily dropped his arms to his sides as they re-entered the room.

"Have you decided?" He couldn't help asking as soon as they drew nearer. Professor McGonagall looked hesitant, and immediately the hope that had flared in Ron's stomach was extinguished.

"We've decided to think about it more," she eventually said, and behind her Dumbledore had that stupidly cryptive gaze fixed on Ron. Like he could see right through him. Ron shivered like he was cold, the feeling like he was being examined slowly dissipating as he looked down, before the heated gaze could reach its climax. But he hadn't been cold for months.

"Okay." Suddenly, a thought struck him out of nowhere. He snapped his head up from his trainers. "What about Harry? And Hermione? What am I going to tell them if I can't go back?"

McGonagall looked unprepared, face sinking into an unhealthy ashen grey. "I- I don't know Weasley." She nodded at him. "That's- we need to talk some more, with your parents and with the Order before we can make a decision."

"Fine." His voice felt different like it wasn't his own. Like he was dreaming, or underwater. "Um, okay."

She nodded briskly once more. "I need to go and discuss something with your father, Weasley," she said in a clipped tone, marching out of the room and voices beginning in the kitchen.

He was left alone with Dumbledore. Who raised his head at him, and surveyed him quietly down his nose, waves of silver flowing down his sides and back. Ron could centre in on his heartbeat, if he wanted, it stuttering somewhat (was that normal) and suddenly his nose caught the scent of decay. Like a burning forest.

It was like the headmaster knew exactly when he caught the odd smell, and smiled at him; it was small, and more genuine that way.

"How are you, Ronald?"

He was surprised. Everyone else had been calling him the vampire, or 'Weasley'. It got a little odd after a while.

"Er, fine." Dumbledore gave him a doubtful look, and Ron squirmed under the stare. "I'm fine," he reiterated.

"Of course," he replied quietly, thinly. Was his voice hoarser this year? Ron couldn't be sure, but last year he hadn't had supernatural powers. It was difficult to know what had changed and what hadn't sometimes. But Dumbledore... he looked far more fatigued than he had done before.

And then there was that _smell_ \- was this what it was like when people got old? When people were close to... dying? Before he could process any more of his thoughts, Professor McGonagall returned with his father.

She gave him a long look, and his father's seemed hollow in comparison. A front. He had been quiet since they had talked in the hall, barely saying a word to anyone and instead choosing to sit in the kitchen with a cup of tea, but that was merely an occupation. Something to do, something to sip. Often times his father wouldn't move for minutes on end, heart ticking by and giving something Ron to steady his own nerves with. It was a comfort, strangely, rather than a promise of a meal.

"I can control myself," Ron said to McGonagall, her gaze snapping to meet his again almost instantly. "I can do it - I can be around everyone else and not do anything. As long as I have my needs met."

If she was unnerved by his light wording of his palate, she didn't show it. "Of course, Weasley," she said in a chipped tone. "But there's always a risk. And that's what we're worried about."

And pity shone in the depths of her eyes, her tone sunk. Like she was sorry this had happened to him, and sorry it got in the way of everything.

Yeah - Ron was too.

His father turned and looked at them. "Thank you for seeing us," he said, nodding at the teachers.

"We'll show ourselves out. Thank you, Arthur," Dumbledore told him somberly and his father jerked his head in a kind of curt nod. The Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress passed Ron's dad in the door, and a few moments later they were gone - the shutting of the front door and sharp pop of apparition signalling their departure.

His father sighed, and Ron felt like sighing too. Bloody hell; he might not be able to go to Hogwarts.

His father didn't say anything. Ron grimaced further.

"What do you think? About me going to Hogwarts?"

This wasn't going to be good. His family's reaction hadn't been ideal, but he was holding out for them to... change. At least a bit. He just wanted to talk to his mum again; Ron steadied himself for disappointment, and looked down at the floor, at his beaten trainers, and the worn rug beneath them.

He knew it. He just knew this wasn't going to go well. But almost nothing would make him go back to when his family didn't know what was going on with him - when he was faced with questions every second of the day asking what was wrong with him. It was a relief; a burden lifted; an iron weight removed from his chest that they all knew now.

It even lessened some of the guilt buried deep inside. But not all of it - they still didn't know about the blonde girl laying dead in the forest. And they never would.

He was a murderer. It was hard to believe, sometimes, looking in the mirror that he had done that. And then at once a cacaphony of wallowing despair settled inside his brain and _oh Merlin, oh Merlin- he had killed someone, how could he still walk around like nothing, like nothing happened-_

And sometimes it would take a few hours for the stream to slow. But he was always all right afterwards. Mostly. Until the next hit came.

But, yeah. Ron had never been the best with secrets (other than the few obvious times) and it had definitely been wearing down on him, sneaking around all the time. It felt like he couldn't breathe, often times. So he was glad he could stop pretending now.

The questions, though, they had been annoying.

His father had gotten the opportunity, earlier, to sit him down and ask him more questions. Fleur and Bill, who had to be somewhere else)

"So how long had you been meeting Mordecai?"

"Can you sleep?" (He had been vague about that one).

"Can you eat?"

"So you really don't have a heartbeat?"

The last one took him by surprise, and Ron stuttered, realising he wasn't in his memories of the morning anymore. He turned around and blinked at his sister, who despite having vaguely red-rimmed eyes look far more put together than this morning.

"What?"

"You- your pulse... you don't have one, right? It said so in my Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook."

"Oh." His eyes widenened in surprise, and he said - casually, far more casual than he felt - "Do you want to come and see?" He held out his wrist in offering.

Even more surprisingly, she actually obliged and skipped downstairs, _skipped,_ Ron couldn't believe the contrast from earlier to now - and arrived in front of him with a final sweep of her hair.

For a second, she was hesitant. But then, without a single tremor, a single tremble, she stretched out two fingers and placed them at the base of his wrist without fear. She hissed.

"You're really cold, you know that?" Ginny told him, face in a worn smile, and then she swallowed. "There's... nothing," she muttered, blue eyes wide as she glanced down at his still arm entirely devoid of a pulse. It was just perfectly still, unnaturally so, probably.

"How didn't I notice?" She said, face crumpling before she scowled, eyes turning fierce, and her expression straightened out again. "That is freaky, though."

"Tell me about it," he muttered.

After a minute, she snorted. "I just can't get used to you like this, with your freaky red eyes."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"And your reflection? What about your reflection? Oh! And can you like, hear everything too?"

Merlin, he was going to be here all day. But he smiled, and turned slightly to see his father looking significantly less worried at the appearance of his sister, and that she seemed to be okay.

He nodded, tone warmer. "Uh, yeah, I suppose I can." It was unnerving, and a conversation he never thought he'd be having with his family... but, well, here he was.

Back with them again. And it looked like things were going to be okay.

Not perfect, but as good as they could be.

It all depended on what happened next.

* * *

"So, how are things?"

Mordecai hunched over further, the cold metal of the telephone box pressing against his shoulder. He paused.

"I'm not doing this anymore," he spoke into the grimy mouthpiece. It was disgusting, but the anonymity of a telephone box was absolutely necessary. He moved again, barely noticing the metal dug into his back.

A beat, and for a moment he thought the line had gone dead. And then, "What?"

"You heard me - I'm not doing this anymore. I'm old, I have no need for work, and I want to go and disappear in peace." He had been thinking of going back to the house, actually. But no one else needed to know that.

"Are you joking, Mordecai?"

Hearing his given name on the caller's lips irked him. He scowled almost automatically.

"No, I'm not, 'Strange. And I don't care how much money you offer me, so don't even try."

"What, you on some kind of moral high-ground now? Can't threaten a teenager into shutting up for a bit of cash anymore?"

"I just don't see the point. Why would I piss off a kid associated with such a powerful organisation?"

They snorted. "So, that's why you backed out. The Order know now, don't they? And I trust you kept my name out of it."

"'Course. But they know it was your crowd."

"You should join us, you know," the voice replied, light tone edging on temptation. "You'd fit in well here, Mordecai."

"You know I don't do that kind of thing."

"But why? We could offer protection from the Order-"

"He'd never go for it - I'm barely a Muggle-born, and I never went to Hogwarts. I'm filth according to You-Know-Who. Good thing he doesn't know exactly who took on this job."

They sniffed. "Yes, well you can't help that, can you? Psycho family with that vampire-hunter sister of yours-"

"Can we get back to the subject?" He bit out gruffly.

They sighed. "Perhaps you wouldn't be such a good fit if you're going to get all sensitive about Alyssa, or Airen, or whatever the hell she was called. But are you sure you won't at least consider?"

"No - it was one job, and I regret it. Don't try and contact me again after this, 'Strange. I mean it this time. This job is my last one, you can't call me for any more favours. Got it?"

They were silent for a moment, before laughter suddenly erupted across the line. Rough and callous.

"You'll be back, Mordecai, you always are-"

He slammed down the receiver before another obnoxious syllable could slip out.

* * *

Ron stood in his room, glancing outside at the chickens puttering and squawking about the garden.

It was well into the afternoon, and whilst his family had been having lunch, he had slunk away to escape having to eat again (it was rather unpleasant). But lunch had gone by, and here he was, alone again. It felt good after all that had happened; his ears satiated by the silence rather than the angry, and then hurt arguments and confrontation.

His mum was still in her room, the door muffled, and he hated thinking of her in there alone. But he supposed he had to give her time to adjust, especially if it meant he still might be able to go to Hogwarts in a few weeks, which on this track didn't look like it was going to happen.

Oh Merlin, he couldn't imagine him being stuck here whilst the rest of them went back to school; Ginny, Harry and Hermione all finishing Hogwarts with him still stuck in the Burrow.

He couldn't be here forever. He just couldn't.

Fed up of staying in his room, he went out into the hall and began walking about, glancing into different rooms just for something to do.

And then, Ron paused, suddenly becoming acutely aware of another person in the hallway. He turned, and saw his mother on the stairs with an unreadable expression on her face.

* * *

All right, couple things:

Number one, no, I didn't spell 'Strange wrong. Apostrophe included. Two, again I'll say that all reactions to Ron's discovery are not final. So before you go complaining just wait a second. Three, Hermione will be coming next chapter (finally lol).

I wanted to thank you all for the comments, because holy fuck there are so many. It's kind of mad. And finally, I deleted my other story because I wasn't happy with it at all. It wasn't something I was happy with sharing anymore, so I took it down. I apologise if you liked it, but I probably won't be going back on my decision. So sorry about that.

This story will not be taken down, so no one worry 'bout that.

Thank you all for reading! And I know this was a long wait for a pretty short chapter, so I'm sorry about that too.

-Tea33 :)


	15. Tell Them All

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Fifteen: Tell Them All

"What are you doing?" His mother asked, voice scratching slightly; it came out hoarse.

He sheepishly tucked his wand back in his pocket. He'd just been twisting it in around, sending out some sparks with nothing better to do. "I- um, nothing."

"It didn't look like nothing." And there was that tone, the motherly voice she would always use on them when one of them was acting up. Ron could vividly remember hearing it when George was out playing with the chickens when he should've been eating dinner; when Percy was working too hard, and playing too little; when Ginny was still in bed, and they had places to be. It was more familiar than the house he'd grown up, even.

When Ron's hand had fallen off the clock she'd said it in those words, when he had been spacing out all the time. It was a kind of tone only reserved for when the Weasley children needed a little push in the right direction.

Well, this time he was going to push back. Ron huffed. "You can't keep me here, Mum."

He was talking about being able to go to Hogwarts, of course. And when he looked in her eyes, Ron knew his mother knew exactly what he meant. She blinked at him, steadying a marginally trembling hand on the banister.

"I- I still- I just want everything to go back to normal," he practically pleaded with her. "I want to go to back to Hogwarts with everyone else." He thought it was a reasonable ask, he thought, but it still felt petulant coming from his lips. Like making demands anymore was forbidden, because he was already a burden enough.

His mum nodded mutely, gripping her woollen shawl loosely around her shoulders. The more they talked, the more relaxed she seemed. The thought comforted Ron a little.

She sighed. "Maybe you still can, dear, but..." she stepped closer, and Ron took a step back before he could think about it, eyeing her hands coming to level with his cheeks but falling short before she could touch him.

"It's just so... it's just such a shame, that you..." she began heavily, voice cracking under the strain and trailing off as she gave him a sad smile, and pressed her palms onto his shoulders. "I'm sorry about all that earlier," she said earnestly. "It was just a-a shock, that's all."

It wasn't a shock, it was a devastation.

He nodded, and replied softly, "It was to me, too." Yes, both of those things. "Even still."

His mother stepped forward again, and embraced him in a tight hug, and he was home again. It was the Burrow: freshly baked bread, a musty warmth and herbs from the garden. Ron would've known it anywhere.

Moving back again, his fringe was brushed back by her cool fingers, and she ruffled his hair for good measure. He grumbled, and pushed her back half-heartedly, far too overjoyed from the earlier hug, that he seemed to have his mother back, to properly deflect her.

"Stop it, Mum," he said, beaming happily, happy that she was talking to him again, and she hummed warmly in response.

* * *

Ron heard the door go before anyone else, pausing mid-sentence and in turn alerting his family that something was wrong. Ginny set down her cup, nudging him before asking quietly, "What is it?"

Their parents began to look worried. Ron, hesitant to disrupt the peace of their quiet afternoon of drinks around the kitchen table, hesitated before he said:

"Someone's at the door."

His mother's expression immediately turned stormy. She stood up, plucking her wand from the section of her hair that was twisted up into a bun and brandished it forwards, any reluctance from earlier having vanished completely.

Or perhaps, it was merely tucked below the surface.

But this was the side of his mother Ron was used to. Kind... then ferociously fierce when she needed to be, when her family was threatened. It was that same sense of intense loyalty and protectiveness that made his mother such a great witch, in Ron's opinion.

"I'll go and answer it." She said.

Of course they were immediately on the defensive: look at what had happened to Ron. Poor, desitute Ron, he never did anything wrong-

He snapped out of it, and saw a crease lay in Ginny's eyebrows, twisting her expression into something guardedly anxious.

His father suddenly put a hand on their mum's arm, stopping her and meeting her swift glance back at him; his eyes were wide, and anxious.

"We don't know who it could be," he muttered, getting up and withdrawing his wand along with her.

"There are wards, Arthur."

"Those can be bypassed." And Ron knew he was talking about him, when he had managed to get through before through lies and deceit. But his dad didn't mention it, instead he stood and walked with his mother to the door, pausing at the door to tell him and Ginny, "You know your shield charms right, kids? Protego Maxima if you can?" They both nodded, Ginny clutching her cup tightly in one hand and reaching for her wand in the other.

"We can do more than that," Ron said seriously, and his father, after shooting him a permissive look left the kitchen to join his mother in the hall.

The afternoon had been going well. His family was warming up to him again, the barrier removed between them, and things felt like... normal. Ron enjoyed it more than he could say, but of course it was interrupted by whoever the hell was at the door.

"Can you hear what they're saying?" Ginny whispered.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. But nothing at the moment, though."

Molly opened the door; a second later, she sighed with what was unmistakeable relief, diving forward to hug whoever had turned up there with palpable enthusiasm. Ron's interest to find out who it was piqued considerably.

His parents' heartbeats slowed into normality. Fear (if mild) slid into curiosity, Ron's hand moving away from his wand at the same time.

"Sorry for the late arrival," said a voice, familiarity washing over him quietly. "But I thought I'd leave it... considering what happened this morning."

"I- it's all fine now, Tonks," replied his mother calmly. And she was, truly, it seemed. But Ron glossed over that in favour of the second presence at the door to make themselves known.  
Ron was waiting, waiting for the second new heartbeat to be explained. He stood from his chair, it scraping back noisily and was halfway through the hall when he heard-

"I hope I'm not being rude, but- what happened this morning?"

"Hermione," Ron gaped at the girl in the doorway, stood in the hallway and completely blindsided. Another scraping noise of a chair being pushed back, and Ginny was suddenly by his side. But not for long.

"Hermione!" She shouted, scrambling forward to go and give the now flushing girl a hug. Ron smirked at her and walked behind slower.

Hermione looked like she always did: wild curls, dark brown eyes, arms full of (predictably) books. By her side stood Tonks, with flat brown locks edged with blue - a change from her usual bright, bubblegum pink, and it changed the shape of her face somehow - and holding a suitcase.

Ron shrugged it off, and instead focused on his friend who had just turned up at their door. He had practically forgotten, what with everything else going on. And although part of him wondered what they were going to do now she was here, he was mostly glad he would have someone different to talk to other than his sister. Don't get him wrong, Ron liked Ginny, but it would've been nice to switch it up a bit.

His mother beamed widely. "Hermione dear, it's so lovely to see you." she said after Ginny released her (also seeming glad at the change of pace) and stepping away to smirk at Ron. And then, his mum looked lost for words for a second. "And as for what happened this morning... well, I-"

"It's hard to explain," Ron cut her off, not wanting her to say anything too soon, still... well, afraid at what she would think of him. And luckily for Ron, at that moment Tonks chose to place Hermione's suitcase by her feet and shoot a mildly awkward grin at them all.

"I- um, I'll be off, then, wouldn't want to intrude-"

"Oh nonsense, Tonks, you're no trouble at all-"

"I have things to do anyway, Molly, it's fine." She said lightly. "But before I go - is everything all right? If you need Hermione to stay elsewhere for a bit I'm sure we can sort it out, and Harry-"

"Tonks, everything is fine," his mother assured her. "It's all sorted out."

Ron felt his eyes widen. Well, he supposed that... settled... whether or not his family still had a problem with him. He hoped they were on his side, but his mum's words could mean they had decided to go against him.

"What's sorted out?" Said Hermione, forever curious, and Ron felt like he had been frozen in place. For a second he hoped his family hadn't heard it, that perhaps it had all been in Ron's head, but of course it wasn't. It was out now, and the entire family were exchanging looks between them, no one sure of what to say next.

Tonks sensed the air, and sniffed. "Well, I'll be going now," she announced, and without another word turned back down towards the garden, shoulders set and a short chorus of goodbyes ringing after her as she disapparated away.

Hermione picked up her suitcase, and looked at them all anxiously. "Can someone tell me what's going on here, please?"

Well, Ron supposed that if she was going to be staying here she had a right to know.

* * *

Fifteen minutes, three cups of tea and one harried conversation later, Hermione Granger was sat slumped forward in a kitchen chair, frowning in earnest at the space before her.

"So," she began, "...Ron's a vampire, and no one knows except the Order. He was bitten by a man called Mortimer who you fought off last night, and you might not go back to Hogwarts?"

"Mordecai," Ron corrected. "But you could just call him a bloody bastard and it'd be fi-"

"Language," his mother tutted.

"But before Ginny said worse-"

"And she apologised, didn't she?" His mother flicked a fierce look at her daughter. "And besides, I was a little distracted at the time."

Ginny squirmed in her seat.

"All right. Sorry, mum, for calling him what he is."

She just sighed. "Well, it is the truth I suppose. But yes dear, you're right."

Hermione nodded and sat back, eyes distant. "Okay," she said, tone as equally as strange.

Arms crossed, Ron leant back against the kitchen table. His thoughts flip-flopped inside his mind like soap in wet hands; he brushed aside the one grumbling about Ginny being let off so easily, and instead turned his attention back to the scarier one. The big bold one in his head surrounding the bright-eyed girl sat in front of him. His stomach turned uncomfortably.

Well, she knew now.

_And what would she think?_

Hermione knew what he was, and although Ron mostly wasn't sure, he... had hope. Although so far she had reacted like she was in a thick haze, swimming through unknown, waterlogged territory, sentences trailing off and words uncertain, Ron kept holding onto the idea that maybe she wouldn't hate him. Maybe, she might dislike it in the beginning, but slowly come around. Like his family.

But so far she was still acting like she didn't want to get something wrong, this early in. Like she was still deliberating an answer to Ron's ultimate question - would she hate him after knowing it all? She went through it slowly, like when tackling a particularly difficult piece of homework.  
Hermione just didn't want to get anything wrong. And that gave Ron hope, because she was trying. He didn't want to think about the alternative; that being she didn't want to get anything wrong in case he hurt her, spirited rage fuelled by his misjudgement.

Even if her initial verdict wasn't good though, things weren't all over. His mother had sent Tonks away with full confidence Hermione would keep staying with them. His family had come around after a rocky first impression. Mostly. Maybe. Could it still be too early to tell? Ron thought of his mother practically fleeing the room with tears in her eyes, and then to her standing ready between what could've been danger at the front door, and her family.

She was still willing to protect him. Or maybe, he had just been a package with Ginny.

Things seemed to be all right. But they could still turn on him-

But there was no use thinking down that road, no use, no use; Ron just had to keep on his toes for danger coming from any direction, whether it be from somewhere familiar or not. He had to be wary, even if it looked like Mordecai was long gone.

Because it only looked that way. And, well, looks could be deceiving. Glamours, for instance.

"...And are you okay with that?" Asked Ron, tentativeness only revealing the puddle-view of the mild panic swimming through his veins.

She blinked, and looked straight at him. "Depends. Do you drink blood?"

Well, no one had really been that outright. Strangely, Ron found it refreshing. "Uh, yeah. I have to, really, otherwise I would die."

_And he couldn't do that yet. Just give him some more time._

(He ignored the uncomfortably frozen looks from his family.)

"Do you get it ethically?"

He paused. "Not always. I- I try to, but sometimes I have to do something a bit... off."

Hermione nodded. "Okay. As long as you're trying." Her tone was disapproving; knowing Hermione, she wanted more than that. It had always exasperated other people, that disapproving tone of hers, but Ron felt like laughing instead. The sharp scrutiny was so familiar, brought out every time Ron would almost fall asleep in class and neglect to take notes that without it, Ron knew Hogwarts wouldn't bloody well be Hogwarts.

He wondered what would happen if he never heard it, that sound, again, and turned the thought away almost immediately on account of it being too unsettling.

"Oh, I am," he replied to her earlier question with a challenging edge.

"Good to know. But how?"

"Took donations from a hospital." Ron shrugged, and continued quietly, "I know, it's not the best, but it's better than the alternative. There isn't much more choice."

It was like his family wasn't even there. Hermione raised a questioning brow. "I suppose," she said, in a manner that Ron knew she had many more questions she was holding in. "And what is the alternative?"

"I'm sure you can imagine," Molly stepped in, and Hermione looked rather put-out. Ron could only imagine how much she would want to study this. His mother pressed her palms together. "But first of all - lunch?"

"I'll pass, thanks," responded Ron, eyes still on Hermione, and his mother pressed her lips thin.

* * *

"So, how are you going to tell Harry?"

Shortly after the conversation in the kitchen, they had moved out into the garden because of the nice weather. Lunch wouldn't be ready for a while yet anyway. Ron picked at a few blades of grass, ripping up strands and tossing them away. Hermione, Ginny and him were sat in the shade of the shed. Where he liked it best. He shrugged.

"I dunno. The same way I told you?"

"...Which was springing it on me the moment I stepped on the door."

"How else was I supposed to tell you?" He said exasperatedly.

"But it's a brilliant conversation starter, Ron," Ginny added. "Hi Harry, guess what - my new favourite food is human blood."

They all paused, and his sister raised a hesitant brow. "Oh. Too soon?"

Ron gave a small grin. "Nah, just... it's still a lot to get used to, y'know?"

"I guess. How long's it been?" Ginny asked, throwing him a curious look.

"A few weeks, I think. Enough so that I find new... talents, rather a lot."

She looked intrigued, but again didn't push it. Hermione, thank Merlin, changed the topic.

"I do feel awful for Harry," she said. "I wish Dumbledore would do something about his family."

"Or let him come here sooner. I wouldn't mind," said Ginny nonchalantly, laying back and flicking at the pebbles nearby. She patted the dry earth, flicking it out of her nails afterwards.

The other girl made a noise of amusement, and she put on an odd tone. "Oh, wouldn't you, Ginny?"

Ginny growled and threw grass in her face, and Hermione spluttered on it and spat it out, coughing between trying to laugh again at whatever hidden joke they had going on between them.

He groaned and lay back, listening to them snicker about Merlin knew what.

What difference would it make to Ginny if Harry stayed here longer? Girls - Ron watched them still snicker about something, and Hermione look outraged and her cheeks heat after Ginny muttered something in her ear and shoot a pointed look at Ron - he still didn't get them.

Bloody hell, he couldn't wait until Harry got here. Until they could all play Quidditch. It was no good with just two people, or even three, really. All they could do penalties, and those got old fast. Especially when you were always in goal.

But how would his other best friend react? Hermione had been decent about it, asking probably more questions than he was comfortable with but otherwise being rather neutral about it. Perhaps it was because of her Muggle upbringing, and so she didn't know much about how vampires fit into wizarding society (or rather, how they didn't.) Ron thought Muggles had some stories about them, but he wasn't sure. How accurate were they?

He didn't really want it to be the reason she had accepted him, though. Because she didn't know any better. Ron wanted it to be because she was educated on the subject, and didn't think he would destroy her at any moment - which he would never, of course.

He'd been told he had a pretty good handle on his thirst, anyway.

Footsteps strutted over in the distance.

"Hanging out with the girls, are we, Ronniekins?"

Beside him Hermione jumped and Ginny began what would've been an absolutely hideous string of swear words, but paused halfway when she remembered the kitchen door was over. Like an angry cat, Ginny whirled around and glared at Fred.

"You idiot! Why didn't you at least announce yourselves first before scaring the absolute-"

"Lunch, everyone!"

His sister glared at their mother's chipper tone, ringing out of the kitchen window. And whilst Hermione and Ginny got up to go in first, Ron sat in the shade a moment longer with the twins standing in front of him. George chortled and plonked himself down beside him.

His outfit was a little more bearable when it wasn't shining in the sun; bright green jacket, shoulders gleaming and square-cut in it, and his jeans looking faded beside them. Ron was fairly sure his boots were mismatched, one purple and one a dark orange, but he was interrupted when Fred crossed his arms and cleared his throat.

"So," he began. "Mum told us you're a vampire, apparently."

"Yeah."

"Well, obviously," Fred muttered, tapping his twin's shoulder after he got an impatient look, and gestured at Ron's eyes.

Right. The eyes. Red, because covering them up would do no good when his family already wanted to believe nothing changed. And him too - but that wouldn't work.

They could of course still go on like before, crowd around the table at meals, except this time Ron wouldn't eat them. Play Quidditch like always, but having to ignore how much further Ron could hit the ball than before.

They could all ignore it, ignore the meeting, ignore Ron's time with Mordecai.

And he could try and ignore the stain of murder upon his soul, but it wouldn't scrub it away. Not truly.

Things could never really be like they were before. And although no one had exactly voiced it, they all knew it. Even the Weasleys who were told over letter (securely, being hand-delivered by an Order member). But that was really only the twins and Charlie, everyone outside close family having been excluded because... it was easier.

Ron wondered if they'd told Percy.

The twins exchanged a positively devious look, George smirking widely. Then, he sighed. "Well, little brother, fangs for telling us the truth, eh?"

"We're _bloody_ grateful for it-" the other continued.

"C'mon Fred, that one was a bite cheap-"

"Oi, I thought it was funny you sucking idiot-"

Ron blinked. How had he not seen this? Of course they were going to take the piss. He scrambled up from his spot on the floor, springing up beside Fred quickly and staring at him.

He was halfway through another quip when Ron interrupted him. "-I'm trying not to be a _vein_ about this, y'know-"  
"So you're not... weirded out? By me?" He was breathless, and he wasn't even sure why. Ron didn't need to damn well breathe anymore.

For what he thought might be the first time ever, Fred actually stopped to listen to him. His eyebrows drew taught.

"No, not really. We should be, probably," and George nodded, "but this isn't our first dealing with- er, vampires. Or werewolves. Or veela. Or banshees, or whoever we can trust to sell us ingredients. It's fine. Frankly I think there are bigger forces to worry about."

Releasing a slow breath, he leant against the shed. "... 'S good, I suppose. You should've heard Mad-Eye this morning. He practically wanted to kill me."

The garden was silent for a moment, a quiet breeze rustling through the trees. George shrugged, expression solemn, his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry about that, mate."

"Me too," Fred echoed. He gave a small smile, stare flickering to Ron to track his reaction.

He was silent, lips pressed in a thin line. Grateful that they seemed to be all right with this. "Thank you," he said, solemnly, and nodded at them.

Fred nodded in return, expression a little scrunched from the sincere gratitude (because if the twins were anything, it wasn't sincere), and snorted.

"It's fine, Ron, just don't stare too long at our necks, yeah?"

"Will do." He grinned tiredly.

Things seemed to be going... okay.

The twins could be added to the list of people that hadn't spurned him, along with Hermione. Ginny too, probably, who had come up to him at least three more times to _really_ check he didn't have a pulse, and even try _finite incantatem_ a few times, like she expected a glamour to come off. Too bad it already had.

She would always do it silently, because his sister was talented like that with her spellwork, but Ron could feel it.

He let it pass every time, and said nothing about it.

His parents were still being odd about it. There wasn't much more to say on the topic.

The three of them trooped inside, the conversation on the matter of Ron's circumstances clearly over for now. Molly set down the plate she was holding and came over to sweep the twins into a tight hug, perhaps tighter than was necessary, but no one was going to bring it up. Fred and George grumbled, each identical in their stupid dragonskin jackets.

"Calm down, Mum, it's- what are you-"

"Merlin, you're gonna crease the jacket-"

"Oh, look at you two," she said fondly, arranging Fred's hair into something more manageable from the bird's nest he'd haphazardly styled it into and peering at George like he'd mortally offended her.

"Much too peaky," she muttered at him, and Fred snorted.

"And _you_ \- I'm not going to even start with that jacket of yours, I don't even know what that cost-"

"Chill out, Mum," Ginny called from the table, and Molly tutted.

They all sat at the table, and Ron did so quietly, sinking into his seat and glancing at the table packed with food.

Everyone else dug in, but not Ron.

"Something wrong, dear?" Asked Molly, and Ron replied:

"Not the right kind of food," and the table went silent.

George petted him on the head sympathetically (Ron glowered at him) and said, "It's all right, dear, me and Fred'll nip out to the garden and see if any of the chickens are looking a bit wan - will you have animal blood?"

"George! Don't joke about those kinds of things, that is horribly inappropriate-"

"It's fine, Mum," Ron sighed, used to their antics.

"No it's not! This isn't a joke, George," she said sharply. "Do you know what this means for Ron? Have you read any of the laws-"

"'Course I have," George shot back spiritedly, but his mother wasn't deterred, voice rising further and further in volume and eyebrows slanting in severity.

"No," she said quietly. "I don't think you do understand. If the Ministry finds out they'll want him tracked, take him, keep him somewhere- somewhere secure. And that's if you're lucky - they may very well decide to throw you in Azkaban. What with the world the way it is now, with the Death Eaters."

"And it's not just Ron. You're targets, we're all targets, all of us- Ron was just the first hit." Ginny was pale, and his mother's eyes were wide, but dry, like they'd forgotten how to cry. "We could be killed, next time. All of us. Or worse."

"I don't mean to scare you, kids, but don't take this lightly, George, Fred, Ginny, anyone. You," she nodded at Hermione. "You're in danger too. You're too young to remember what happened before, the first time round. The only thing keeping out the Death Eaters may be the wards we have put up. That's it."

"We're in trouble. We are all targets. This isn't to be taken lightly, children." She finally finished, voice now hoarse from her harsh words. "I'm- I'm so sorry, but it's the truth. We took a risk, joining the Order, but we felt a duty to fight. Whenever you leave the house, and only when you have to, and only with us, you have to be careful. Always be prepared - keep rehearsing your spells in case you have to use them. Defensive, and offensive."

"This is _not a joke._ Don't you get that?"

George nodded curtly, and mumbled, "Yes, Mum."

Ron swallowed harshly, and felt the intense scrape of thirst beginning to pick up in his throat.

* * *

Yay finally some movement in the ploooot. Hermione turned up as promised, Harry might take a bit though; Molly is being nice. Also yes, I did immensely enjoy putting in those stupid vampire puns thank you very much

I think that's about it. Oh yeah, the big speech at the end was 'cause Molly was stressed and wanted to keep her kids safe, so bam, lecture.

Again the comments were amazingggg and thank you for reading.

-Tea33 :)


	16. Upwards

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Sixteen: Upwards

"Gillyweed, I know that one," Ron muttered, before dropping his quill and slumping back on his bed. From the floor Hermione tutted at him, eyebrows furrowed deeply. Her own quill scratchedaway at the paper almost incessantly, and Ron thought it was a shame that skill wasn't infectious... otherwise he'd have finished all of his homework by now.

He grumbled, and threw his head back on the pillow.

Hermione made an indignant noise. "I should think so. Do you remember when-"

Ron snorted. "Harry used it in the Triwizard Tournament, Second Task? Yeah, I do." He considered the floorboards in puzzlement. "Utterly mad, wasn't it?"

Hermione gave him a reproachful look, and said amusedly, "The only _mad_ thing was that you two were fighting over... I don't even know what. It was just stupid, and I'm glad your little faceoff is long over."

"Well, maybe not yet," Ron said, glancing at her momentarily. "I don't know how he'll take it, still."

Truth was, Ron had no fucking idea what Harry would think of him being a vampire. Things with Hermione had gone well, but they were two very different people.

For instance, Ron knew Harry had a heroic streak running a mile wide (Hermione and he did too, but her logic could sometimes stick a wedge in it, and him... sometimes his own doubts got in the way of putting himself in that hero position) that might've changed things, had their positions been swapped. Harry would've thought more about the people who cared about him, acted with their feelings in mind, whereas Ron had snuck around and lied through his teeth more times than he could count.

He even killed someone. That practically had him on _Death Eater tier._

But what would he have done? Ron was genuinely curious now. Would Harry have come clean immediately, sacrificed himself for the people around him? Ron wasn't sure. Having little family of his own, would Harry have come clean immediately to the friends he had?

To the side of him, Pigwideon hooted - the attention hadn't been on him for three minutes, and the owl was getting impatient. Ron frowned.

"Hermione," he began quietly, sitting up again and stretching slightly. "What would you have done? If you were bitten, I mean?"

He was curious to know.

She paused in her tracks almost immediately. Setting down her homework to the side neatly, (that she didn't even need to do, Ron reminded himself of a conversation he'd had with her earlier; she was just re-doing it mainly to get Ron to do it too.) Hermione sighed.

"I don't know, Ron. It's..." she paused. "A difficult situation."

"No shit, Hermione."

She gave him a look before continuing, disgruntled. "But I don't think your method was particularly... bad - or good, really."

"Not bad and not good? So my approach was neutral, then?" he asked sparingly.

"...yes. I don't think you should have lied, but I can understand why you did. You were afraid for your family, yourself, and of Mordecai."

Ron felt a little uncomfortable at his feelings being guessed like that, but just shrugged. She was right after all. Hermione, watching him carefully, carried on.

"There were much worse ways to go about things, after all."

"Like what?" He glanced up again, gaze curious.

"Do I have to explain?"

Ron's unmoving stare, clashed with her grated glare almost at once, and Ron relented first, grumbling and picking his half-finished essay back up. "Fine. But what does pearl powder do to hinkypunks again?"

She just rolled her eyes, and threw a book at him. Ron caught it and began to flip around in it to try and find a reference.

"Page eighty-two, Ronald."

He nodded. "Right. Thanks."

Things were much calmer than before, despite the extra people in the house. The things that had been said were settling in the dust, drifting in the background and, having seeped (often uncomfortably) into their brains already, did little else. His parents were downstairs making quiet chatter, his sister playing with Crookshanks in her room and him and Hermione just tackling homework. If he glanced forwards, Ron could see through his ajar door the door to Percy's empty room.

Did his practically estranged older brother know what was going on?

The twins were also downstairs, trying to balance as many bottles on top of each other on the kitchen table if the quiet clinking and hurried whispering out of his parents' earshot was anything to go by.

His mother had apologised for her earlier outburst, stress making her snap for a minute. But she said she wasn't sorry for telling all of that to them - it was what they needed to hear. Things weren't like they were before, the attack on Ron proving just that. More danger lay outside their door than Ron had ever known, and it would only grow as the Death Eaters got stronger and their numbers increased. Along with all the 'accidents' (murders) the Ministry tried to cover up, fumbling facts to make things seem better than they were.

But everyone knew things were getting worse. You could just feel it.

Apparently that wasn't even safe anymore, the Ministry having been infiltrated. Every day his mum would look incredibly tense, expression worn with worry when his dad would kiss her goodbye before he left for work; they would hug tightly, too, and Ron couldn't help but imagine it was because it could be the last time they saw each other.

Sometimes, he'd swallow and go and hug his father too. Because in these times, like his mother had said, being a Weasley might mean that, a well-known 'good' family - you could step out the front door one day, and never return home. And Ron was a prime example of that. He had just gone for a bloody _run,_ and look what happened.

He was already getting sick of the pitying looks.

"Whey!" George called from downstairs, finally having gotten three bottles on top of each other (no thanks to his clenched hand fizzing with a stabilising spell under the table, Ron realised with a dry smirk) and it stayed up for about three seconds, toppling after Fred murmured something under his breath.

The resounding crash reached Hermione's ears, making her squeak and fumble in her line. Ink splotched slightly on the page, and Pigwideon hooted loudly in the background again, making her jump further.

"What was that?" She asked, looking around her warily. In her room Ginny hadn't heard a thing, still playing her music at a volume that Ron felt was far too loud and flipping through some gossip mag; she picked up the pencil pot near her and began whisper-shouting lyrics into it, entirely unaware of everything else going on around him.

Ron hummed. "Just Fred and George being idiots. Some kind of game, I think stacking the bottles left over from lunch-"

"How do you know all that?" She asked warily, before her features flashed with recognition. "Oh. Right. Your hearing..." her words wilted, before she managed to pick it up again with a resigned sigh. "I suppose that'll come in handy when we inevitably end up sneaking around school this year."

Ron snorted, but quickly sobered at her mentioning Hogwarts. "Don't know if I'm going back, actually."

"You can't be serious."

"Deadly," he remarked, idly turning the page in front of him, his attention entirely elsewhere. Ron could feel Hermione's outraged stare burning into the side of his face - he didn't need supernatural powers to figure out that one.

She chuckled lowly, dangerously. "And you're all right with that? You're just going to give up on- on your education?"

"It's not my choice, Hermione," he told her, and she paused.

"What? Why- who's not letting you go back, then?"

"Dumbledore and McGonagall. The Order. My parents, maybe. I don't know exactly, but I'm a danger to other students," he remarked flatly. "They can't take any precautions, especially this year."

He turned, and saw her lips pursed thinly. "But that's- that's a load of _rubbish_ ," she seethed. "Isn't it?"

He shrugged. "I- don't know, really."

"You don't know?" She raised her eyebrow. "How can you not know whether you're dangerous or not?"

"Things can change," he said. "It's like... I'm different than I was a week ago. You- you know, getting stronger, er, needing more... sustainment. I haven't been around hundreds of unfamiliar people, like at Hogwarts for hours on end, so I don't know what that will change."

"You're still experimenting with it." It wasn't a question, merely a statement. A correct one at that. Ron nodded, and shrugged mutely. "Not like there's a handbook, is there?" Ron grunted.

Hermione gave him a long look, eyes wide and reproachful, and he sighed.

No Hogwarts. At this point, it was looking like a very real possibility - and it made Ron want to simultaneously smash his hand through a window and curl into a hopeless heap on the floor. Fred and George had flunked out of Hogwarts their last year, but they'd had a back-up plan. A choice. Ron didn't - he was what he was, and there was no changing what came with it. He had accepted that truth, so why was this taking so long to sink in? That he might be too dangerous for Hogwarts?

It was just one more thing he had to give up.

Hermione interrupted his thoughts with a rapid shake of her head. "No. You want to go back, right?" He nodded; sure, homework and essays were shit, but he didn't want to leave. If anything it was to buy him more time before he decided what he was going to do in the real world - because how could a vampire work in the Ministry, work anywhere for that matter?

But that was for a different time. Ron turned back to Hermione, who was frowning deeply, a red beginning to bloom along her cheeks.

"That's not right, you know. You're not dangerous - you're just... you," she said, and Ron tried not to be too upset with the insinuation that he was practically harmless: but Ron supposed that was the angle he would have to go for if he wanted to have at least some place in society.

Fred and George had mentioned meeting vampires in sketchy ingredient deals, and hey, if that didn't sound like a job opportunity Ron didn't know what was.

So, immortal drug dealer it was then.

Okay, he had to concede - working as a dodgy vampiric dealer hadn't always been Ron's choice of career; it had actually always been Auror, preferably, but there was little chance of that happening now. The Ministry bloody despised most magical creatures, especially one littered with Death Eaters.

Ron felt his heart sink a little further.

"No. We have to do something about it." Hermione rose to her feet with a purpose. "Where are your parents? I want to speak to them, maybe I can convince them-"

"Downstairs, but Hermione-" he stepped in front of her, just about blocking the door. "Just hold on a second. I-I really don't- _should_ I be going to Hogwarts, though? Really? Just think about it for a second."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"You talk about me like I'm still... me. Immune to blood and all that. I'm not, really, at all. And I've done some messed up stuff to get it." He'd broken into a hospital and stolen from them when they were practically defenceless against magic, ended up _killing_ someone the last time he tried to get some on his own... and even now, he could feel hunger beginning to carve at his veins.

She just needed to understand that he wasn't the same person anymore.

He didn't have long until the thirst grew insatiable; so, Ron was going to make the most of it.

"Of course I want to, but that's not... the point. I'm not normal, Hermione."

"Don't say that, Ron."

Of course she couldn't see. Red eyes, fun. Fangs, barely noticeable unless Ron specifically drew attention to them. She just wasn't _seeing_ him.

He shot her a practically pleading look, shifting to one side of the room to pick up a dusty knut, the bronze of the coin shimmering in the sunlight. Ron almost shuddered at it, light unnerving him even in its dullest form. He clenched the coin into his fist, and pressed down.

It snapped almost audibly.

He walked over and tipped it jerkily into her palm, the coin now bent in half and edges sharp, just hanging on by one thread of metal.

" _Look_ ," he uttered just as helplessly. "It's not right."

Hermione swallowed. She looked down at the coin in her hand, Ron's no doubt rather cool fingers hovering in midair beside her outstretched arm. The coin twisted over in her curled fingers, and she unfurled them, letting it drop to the floor with a quiet, metallic _click._

"I don't care," she said quietly, the words sudden in the slow afternoon. "So what you've had to do some bad things? At- at the Ministry I-" she gulped. "-I nearly killed someone. A few people, maybe, just going by the reports afterwards. If magical medicine wasn't as good as it is, a few of them might have. Died, I mean. What happened there, it wasn't exactly ethical. I could've used safer spells, more stunners, but I didn't want to. I needed to make sure they wouldn't get back up again anytime soon. I made things easier for myself-"

"Self-defence, 'Mione," he muttered gently. "You had to. Those guys would've blasted us to pieces if we didn't ramp up the offence a bit-"

"So how is yours any different? I know it sounds bad having to drink blood, but I'm sure there are ways to get it without doing anything bad- and even if you did cross territories a little I'm sure things'll be fine."

"What?"

"You can't always be good. One-hundred-percent. Sometimes you do something wrong; we're fighting a war, Ron," she said, sounding more tired than she ought to. "You're going to have to do something questionable at some point. So as long as you try your best to balance it out, I don't see anything wrong with that." She looked up at him, those brown eyes soaking up the light susceptibly. "And who says you _are_ bad? It's all about perspective."

"But regardless, I still think you should be allowed to go to Hogwarts with the rest of us. And I'm going to go and tell them that."

Ron was left speechless. That was quite a piece. Hermione gave him one last glance before turning on her heel out of his room.

"Wait!" He shouted after her, and she paused. Expectant. "Wait- wait for me," he finished slowly, and she gave him a short grin.

"All right, then," she replied.

* * *

Ron couldn't say how long she spoke for to his parents, but afterwards it was long enough that afterwards Hermione blew out a breath, a much needed one after her mountainous exclamation. "So," she said, still a little breathless, "will you let Ron go?"

"I- er," his father paused, looking rather dazed still. Ron couldn't fault him there - they had come sprinting in out of nowhere and immediately launched into a very, very long one-sided argument.

Hermione had been very good at it, and the thought of her being a judge one day, or at least a public speaker popped into his mind as he listened to her. He might just tell her that later. But later, for now was the time his parents (and Fred and George, Ron supposed, since they were hanging about in the doorway like vibrantly-coloured decorative vases in their dumb outfits, having not offered a single word in his case - _thank_ you, brothers mine) would reach a verdict.

"No. At least not yet - we need to discuss this a bit more before we reach a decision."

The jury were yet to give their testimonies, however - and about fucking time, Ron was getting worried they'd forgotten how to talk.

"I say he should go, Mum," George announced, crossing his arms. Beside him Fred did the same - twins, after all.

"Yeah, it's dangerous and all that blah blah blah, but you've got all the teachers up at the school. McGonagall, and Flitwick, and Dumbledore. Not Snape. And Aurors too this year, if the papers are to be believed."

"Aurors," his mother paled. "I forgot that. Added danger."

"We don't have to tell them though, do we?" shot back Fred crisply. "So you can calm down about them eating poor Ronniekins for breakfast- and besides, he can take care of himself, can't he?"

George suddenly brandished his wand rather menacingly at Ron. "Shall we put that to the test, eh? Me and you, garden, right now?"

"No- no! Everyone stop-"

"I think that's a good idea, actually," their dad cut in over the top, interrupting his wife for what might have been the first time in their entire marriage. "The school seem more equipped to deal with the situation. And Ron can control himself, can't he?"

His wife still looked skeptical, so he shot the twins a quelling look, and their devious expressions disappeared suddenly.

" _Arthur_ ," his mother hissed to his dad, practically inaudible, but of course Ron still caught it all. "You're making it sound like they're going to war."

"What if we are?" Said Ron. "What you said earlier-"

"I meant you should protect yourselves, not go diving head-first into duels with Death Eaters far more skilled than yourselves-"

"We might have to, Mum."

She pursed her lips, and went quiet. Not for long, though.

"I'll be damned if you go into battle before us. Not until there's no other option, you won't. I won't be losing _any_ of you in this." She glared at them all fiercely as she said it, stare piercing into Fred until he looked genuinely worried he'd upset her.

They were all wearing that kind of grim, resigned expression that you didn't realise wasn't unique to you until you looked around, and saw everyone the same. His Dad looked away, and Ron remembered his mother's brothers, Gideon and Fabian. How they died in the last war. Ron had never met them, but he knew there was a photo beside a lamp in the living room showing a younger Molly, and the two of them, lanky and ginger and reminding Ron an awful lot of his brothers leaning on her shoulders.

They were smiling in the picture; his Mum told him they died a few years later. And after that, Ron got an odd squirming feeling whenever he looked at it, that he had never known his mum's Ginny and Percy, or her Fred and George, or Bill and Charlie. He felt mildly aching sense of missing something, despite the fact they'd never met.

Ron couldn't imagine losing a single one of his family, let alone two of them. He just didn't want to think about it. Ever.

That odd feeling of remorse had increased tenfold when he heard about how they died - fighting, of course.

And how would they feel about a dark creature - a leeching vampire - under the same roof as their sister?

"I want to fight," said Ginny, bringing him back from his thoughts. "I enjoyed it before." And whether she was referring to the Ministry or the DA, Ron didn't know; he didn't press it, and neither did his parents.

His mother sighed. "It shouldn't be fun, Ginny-"

"Yeah, I-I know," she said. "But it's at least necessary, isn't it?"

"But you'll be at Hogwarts!"

"Not me, I won't," Ron bit out grimly.

His mother suddenly looked flustered, eyes widening quickly. "Well- there's no guarantee of that, love-"

"Basically is at this point," he grunted, and Fred shrugged.

"I have to agree, Mum. If you want Ronald to go to Hogwarts, you have to start petitioning for that side." He had one hand on his hips, and an incredulous look on his face.

Everyone else muttered and nodded in agreement, George whispering something extra to Fred like they had done for years. It had pissed everyone off actually, quite a lot, that they were having their own conversation - but now, Ron could hear them too.

What is it they had been saying all along?

"...petitioning, eh, you with your fuckin' fancy words-"

"Shut up you-"

He swiftly tuned back into the conversation, their words proving to be a hell of a lot less interesting than he'd thought. Just a lot of swearing, really. What a letdown.

"Well I- it's dangerous," she said pleadingly, and Fred shook his head.

"Sure it is," he said breezily. "Doesn't mean you can't still make it work."

His mother frowned, briefly, eyes flickering between each pair of eyes in the room, stuttering slightly on Ron's blood-red ones. Glamours were just a little uncomfortable to be wearing all the time.

Hermione stepped forward, one hand brushing up the side of her other arm. She clasped her fingers together, and stared fully at Molly with her eyes wide open, properly trying to convince his mother that he be allowed back in school.

Again Ron was reminded of how lucky he was to have Hermione.

"Please, Mrs Weasley," she began, their surname sounding oddly disjointed in the quiet and dusky sunlight of the kitchen; the light flickered onto Hermione's hair, and Ron could suddenly see the different colours highlighted in bronze.

Vacantly, he though that his new powers weren't all useless, or dangerous. This one for example was perfectly harmless. The corner of his mouth pulled upwards slightly; the thought was something peaceful in the war-torn stream of panic that had been running around his brain almost constantly since this damn thing started. Hermione had rather a nice blend of copper hidden in her locks.

For a moment, he enjoyed being sluggish, and slow. And then the moment was gone. Because his mother was opening her mouth to speak again.

"I still don't know about this, Hermione," she said, voice wrung out like an old cloth. She suddenly sounded exhausted, and again Ron was hit with how Earth-shattering this must have been for everyone.

He thought he already knew that, honestly. But it was like a recurring blow - smashing into him and crumbling the resolve he had left when he least expected it.

From somewhere, he digs deep to find something, anything to say - Ron needs something phenomenal to say, something that's going to fix it all, make it all better, get him back into Hogwarts-

But for all there is to say, Ron can only muster a: "Mum, _please_."

It does the trick, though. He hopes. He wants. He waits. He wishes so fucking desperately it feels like it's setting his brain on fire, and slowly, something in the depths of his mother's expression shifts. Her stance slumps further, hands grasping at the chain clasped loosely around her neck, fingers brushing the gem as they restlessly brush up and down.

It's a practised habit, one he's sure he's seen many times. But right now it feels like the clanking of machinery before a bell tolls, the crack of thunder before a storm a begins. This is the moment he finds out whether or not he can go back for his sixth year.

Her drawn eyebrows furrow, and her hand is stopped by Ron's dad's, their palms slipping together as he took her hand away, away from the necklace, away from his chance, Ron thinks, it's all over-

"Yes," his Mum eventually spits out, and Ron thinks he could collapse.

"You sure?"

It's his Dad, asking if she's certain about her decision, and he wants to scream. _Of course she's sure, of course, she just said, I'm going back, I can go back, I'm-_

Gulping shakily, Molly shook her head. "I'm not sure, Arthur. But he wants to, and... I couldn't deny him that, finishing Hogwarts. He's still just a _boy_ ," her tones waver towards the end, and Ron's euphoria is overshadowed by a sudden pang of guilt.

This was all his fault. The stress, the thing eating away at his mother. All his fucking fault.

George cheered, breaking Ron's line of thought clean in two. Thank Merlin.

"Yes! Yes, we're still the only drop-outs in the family, Fred, we kept our title-"

While his Dad blinked on owlishly, his Mum begun to chuckle, the tremours easing from the crow's feet running along the edges of her eyes; sometimes the twins' goofy humour did come in handy. Hermione grinned, covertly, at the floor, even Ginny looking quite happy with the results. His Dad clasped her on the shoulder, and smiled at her neatly until she reciprocated the gesture, the fear Ron had seen earlier in her irises chased away by the resounding contentment, and dare he say happiness.

Well, he was going back to Hogwarts.

His mother laughed warmly, but the sound tapered off into something colder. She stilled. "I wouldn't get too- too happy about it yet, we still have to confirm it all with the school. But I think we'll be successful, you know." Her eyes even shone for a second before she wiped away the tear, mouth curved into a smile. His dad placed an arm around her and murmured something into her ear, and she began to brighten up again.

Things were looking up, he supposed.

But Ron had this bad feeling they weren't going to end that way: on a high note. The headlines of newspaper articles were only skewing into darker and darker topics, each of them just as terrifyingly true as the last, and Order meetings growing more frequent and more hushed.

Things were ramping up a notch; Ron wasn't blind, no matter how easy it seemed to be to forget when he was stood beside his family, rays of sunlight splashing onto their backs and highlighting the smiles on their faces; when Hermione, one of the people who meant a lot to him in the world was stood beside him with a half gleeful look, as if to say, 'told you so'.

If Ron told her that danger lay around the corner, lurking, waiting for them to slip up, for them to take too long getting home one afternoon, he could've given her that look too in the future. _I told you so._

But all of that knowledge was kept secure, locked tight into his bones deeper than his annoyance at Fred and George's irritatingly frequent attempts at vampire humour.

Time was ticking on, and so were the hours until Harry's arrival, until Ron had to go back to Hogwarts again and face the proper test.

_Soon._

* * *

Mordecai looked on the phone, and it continued ringing, vibrating, the sound rising a cacaphony of that irritating trill that went on and on and on in his head. Annoyance peaked, he picked it up, and the first thing he barked into the received was:

" _What?"_

They were silent. And then they - he, Mordecai already knew it would be him - spoke. "Come on, Mordecai. Just come and join us. It's been almost three weeks, aren't you getting bored?"

"No." Yes. Without nights to sleep through anymore, the days stretched onwards in a dull haze. He was fucking dying over here with nothing to do.

But if he didn't get out now, would he ever? Mordecai thought he'd done enough, even by his own accounts.

They spoke again. "Come on, Mordecai, you know you want to. You're a vampire, and you'll have to keep stealing blood. Committing crimes."

He held back from biting his tongue, finally. "So you're saying I should go and commit more, then?"

They seemed satisfied that he had answered. "Of course. Two wrongs don't make a right, so what's the point in trying to fix things? Just keep going."

"Until when, Rodolphus? Until I'm burned down to hell personally?"

He sighed. "Come on, Mordecai. Like the old days."

"The old days were just us four - you, me, Rabastan and Bella. And that was before I knew who you all were. No."

"The rest of them don't talk, though. It may as well just be us four again. They're nothing!"

" _No._ "

"Come on, Mordecai, I need this, or _he's_ going to-"

"I don't give a damn what you need, no-"

"Come on!"

" _No-_ "

" _Mordecai!"_

"No! for the last time, no." He heaved out a breath, tired of the discourse. "I'm going."

"Just turn up to one. _One._ Give it a chance. If things go wrong, it won't matter. You're off the map anyway."

He didn't answer.

"I know you, you enjoy fighting. And you sure as hell aren't going to join the Order, not now, so just join us instead. There are perks, you know."

Still he said nothing.

"Money. Destruction. Anything you want, and if you do a good job, it'll be brought to you before you can beg Merlin for it instead. Just do it."

Mordecai gritted his teeth. " _Fine._ "

They almost whooped into the earpiece, relaying off an address before he could slam down the phone, pissed off he'd been swayed into the decision. "Malfoy Manor, meet in a few days-"

Mordecai huffed, and cut off Rodolphus' voice in one swift slam of the receiver.

Well, shit. So much for not picking sides.

* * *

Bit at the end was kinda spontaneous. Also heads up, this story will most likely be very long. Sorry. And you know how I said they'd be getting to Hogwarts soon? Erm. Yeah. Might take a couple chapters. But Harry will be coming soon-ish, so that's good.

Absolutely loving all the comments, they've been amazing. Thank so all so much for them.

More chapters coming soon love you all very much thank you byeeee xx

-Tea33 :)


	17. The Skeletons Buried in our Closets

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Seventeen: The Skeletons Buried in our Closets

Ron was so thirsty he could nearly taste it already; the blood, washing down his throat; the sticky, clotted, macabre warmth. He saw it in the distance, around every corner, and imagined it washing down his throat. Fixing all the aches and pains that suddenly plagued him. The thirst had turned his throat achingly dry, so much so he could taste it when he swallowed. It hurt - oh, for fuck's sake, it hurt so much... and it only drew closer.

Whose idea had it been to make this so bloody _painful?_

He wanted metallic swishing round his teeth, dancing over his tongue and fixing everything like magic. He wanted his stomach to stop cramping around something invisibile, contracting over thin air; he wanted his speed back, his strength; he wanted to be able to move around without it feeling like something was dragging him to the floor. Sinking his bones down to hell.

Ron tried to keep convincing himself it was all in his head. But he knew his time was nearly up. He couldn't keep delaying it, not when it felt like the energy, the life was draining out of his bones.

He looked the part in the mirror, too. Everyone could see.

He couldn't bring it up, though. So here he was sat at the dinner table with everyone else like he was all right, his family quite content to go about like things hadn't changed (like Ron's eyes weren't red) other than being more protective. More protective. Fleur and Bill had even come round for a meal before Fred and George left again, unable to leave their shop for long in the hands of their assistant; Bill had arrived too, the night before - windswept from his travels and burnt from wild dragons and blaring sun in Romania. His hair was much too long, according to their mother. Getting out of control.

And Ron felt like he was losing control, too; spiralling from the thirst. So he just sat there, staring vapidly ahead and waiting for the thirst to go.

He didn't move, glancing to the side to catch Ginny's unreadable look grazing the side of his face before turning away.

Things had been all right, mostly, since they'd all found out. But there were still odd moments.

Behind him, Bill told the same joke he'd told Fleur that sent Fred and Charlie into snorts of laughter, and their dad muttered to George in the corner of the table about business, him being the one that handled that kind of thing. His Mum sat down in her seat, placing the bowl of peas back in the centre of the table, and she nodded at Fleur opposite her, eyes crinkling in the corners with the small smile she gave her.

Ginny picked up her fork, and hesitated, eyes turning to him again.

"You don't mind, right?" She asked, uncharacteristically nervous, and Ron had no bloody clue why. Until he looked at the cutlery held loosely in one hand, and he understood why.

"Er, no, it's fine... go ahead. You can eat normal food in front of me."

She nodded. "Right," and began to eat.

Well. That had been... awkward, and Ron was just happy the rest of his family didn't seem uncomfortable about tucking in in front of a vampire. Mostly.

Ron eagerly diverted his attention from his sister sat beside him, and to Hermione sat between him and Fred.

She gave him a slight grin, and he smiled back at her too.

And then, he swore he blacked out for a moment.

It stabbed him all at once like the sharpest knife, embedding itself deep in his chest. Thirst. The thirst, it was growing. He couldn't remember it ever being this bad. He wanted to die, the pain; he wanted to be set on fire and writhe in the flames, because fucking _anything_ would be better than this-

Ron stopped, about two seconds away from tearing his chair in half. He was partially stood up now, his mother watching him with an odd expression. Like she didn't know what he was going to do.

His senses were suddenly overwhelming. Suffocating him, forcing him to draw in a breath that, oh, that he doesn't even _need..._ But it's the sharp, iron tang that's brough in with it that makes him open his eyes wider than he's ever done before, really seeing, sensing, what's around him.

Seven people. Seven sat round this table, all of them entirely oblivious to the train of thought steamrolling through his head at the current moment.

He was afraid to move for fear of breaking control.

Control, control, control- he was losing his.

The thirst. He could solve it right now, easily. Ginny was sat a foot away from her - easy to drag her away before anyone did something.

Ron didn't care about the logistics of it all, whether he'd be killed after; he just wanted blood and he wanted it now, now, now-

_Snap out of it, fucking snap-_

They were just so close, though... it'd be easy to just do it. Now. Let the time go by, enjoying himself and quenching the thirst, and walk out of the Burrow with a smile on his face and all seven of the pulses silent.

He could win if he wanted to. Ron knew it as surely as he did the magic that hummed through his veins at the mention of sustenance, and a fight.

Honestly, he would just do it to stop the rhythmic banging of their hearts clattering around his brain. Reminding him what he was missing twenty-four-seven.

It was _excrutiating._

Ron blinked, and the thought was gone. The trance subsided until it was no more. He had been pulled from it by a sudden hand on his shoulder, Fred's confused face flasing before his own before he was pushed away again. (By him, he distantly registered). Ron reared away from him, the smell too much, congealing in his sensitive nostrils and making it ten times worse; he couldn't handle it, can't have them all here, not when he's so very close to snapping completely, going _mad-_

"Ron?" It's Ginny's terrified voice finally dragging him out of it. He breathes in deeply, gulps raggedly, too fast to properly smell the air and can eventually bear to look up again. At his siblings, mother, Fleur; all of them stood round him with varying expressions of worry and shock and even fear.

If he'd afraid, he can't even imagine what they're feeling. He gritted his teeth, and leaned back further against the wall, petrified to even blink. All it took was a second; a second of lost control, and they'd all be dead, all of them.

Before, he had been joking. At least somewhat, about murdering his entire family. But there was no moment but right now that made the possibility more dangerously, horrifyingly real. Trepidation electrocuted his entire being and jolted each nerve ending, frazzling his brain further than the thirst already had done. It felt like his throat was dancing under the same lightning his body had been subjected to.

The bloodlust slowly seeped away until it was nothing but a shadow in the corner.

He had no idea what to say, but that hesitance was interrupted when he glanced back at his family. Right. Explanations.

He swallowed anxiously. "Y-Yeah?"

The reply sounded horribly scraped, rigid, dead to his own ears. He swallowed, and a ringing filled his ears. He could hear worms squiggling about in the garden, burrowing under the soil.

It hurt. The sounds, and the stares.

He looked up, and saw everyone's eyes on him.

"Are you all right, Ron?" asked Fred.

"I'm fine," he replied. "Just tired."

One by one, after each of them searching him with a filtering gaze, they went back to their places, and continued eating. Ron caught his mother's eyes on him, and, lowering himself back into his seat he matched her gaze with an equally pleading look.

 _I don't know what that was,_ he was saying. _Please, don't- don't do anything, it's over now-_

And to his luck, she simply turned away, and left it.

Later on, when everyone had gone home, Ron turned to his sister and his parents and Hermione, all still sat around the table. Fred and George had gone back to their shop, Charlie had to catch an early portkey back to Romania, and Bill and Fleur went back to their hotel.

"Mum," he said, and naturally everyone's heads turned toward him, still sat in his chair. Ron's hands twitched and clenched at his side, unsure what to do with them. "'Night. Going to bed, all right?"

He went to leave, but his mother made an indignant noise. "Are you sure, Ron?" She asked concernedly, hands stilling on the knitting needles of the crimson jumper she was halfway through.

The reply came quickly, and Ron found himself smirking. "Yeah Mum - I think I can tell when I'm tired."

She quirked a brow. "Well goodnight then, and don't be so cheeky, Ronald," she tutted at him sharply before going back to her project. Ginny spoke up from the floor beside the fireplace; a tussle (that's what she'd called it, but Ron had spotted her and Dean snogging like their lives depended on it) on the train platform at the end of last year caused her bag to split, books falling out and breaking, spines bent. She was fixing it now, running her wand across her bag and murmuring quietly. She stopped suddenly.

"You do look like you need an early night," she remarked off-handedly. "You look all pale and... shadowy."

"Thanks a bunch, Gin."

She shook her head. "Shove off, Ron-" (their mother tutted again in the background, and Ginny looked vengeful) "-but I just meant more than usual. Like you look a bit sickly. Can vampires get colds?"

Ron shrugged, but he knew damn well what she meant. In the mirror he could see dark circles encompassing his eyes growing deeper, pallor turning ghostlier by the day. The freckles littered across his cheeks grew darker, starker against a pale canvas. Ron just looked plain unhealthy - even for a vampire.

It was only a matter of time before the people around him noticed, too.

Ron knew why he looked that way, was continuing to spiral down that path. The lack of blood was growing urgent, and since that was the only thing keeping him alive it was no wonder he was beginning to look like a corpse.

He swallowed, and tasted dryness again. If that even had a taste. "Well, maybe getting some more rest would fix that."

Again, he turned to leave, but was stopped by more questions. It was Hermione this time, Crookshanks curled up on her lap. "So you can still do that then?" she said, anxious to gauge his reaction. "Sleep, I mean."

Ron said nothing for a moment, and then, "No."

His mother looked up. "What?"

"I don't need to anymore. Not sure if I even can," he said quietly. "It's been a few weeks."  
"So what are you going to do then?" _You can't sleep?_ Ginny's stark stare seemed to be saying. Written all over her face, her eyes.

Maybe it was Legilimency. He hadn't had long to learn it, so it was plausible he could have done it accidentally.

Merlin. Ron needed to get his powers in track. Just this morning he'd snapped his toothbrush in half, unknowing of his own strength. Threw it onto the side of the sink, on a porcelain grave. It hadn't been the only occasion his powers had gotten away from him.

Mordecai's words came back to him then, stood in the living room, as they often did.

_"When you lose control, you won't get weak," he told him, pacing around Ron in a circle predatorily._

_"You'll get stronger. Much stronger than you've ever been. But it's dangerous - you'll have no control. And once you get far enough, you'll attack anything that moves regardless of whether it's me..." he paused, spinning around with a glint in his eyes. "Or your own mother."_

_Ron bit the inside of his cheek, worrying it until he could taste crimson. It healed almost immediately. "How do I... not do that?_

_Then, Mordecai had smiled widely, in that way that seemed to put every single one of his pointed teeth on display. "You'll have to eat. Or not - I'd be delighted if you finished off your family. And then, once it was over, you'd come back to your senses, you'd have to deal with what you'd done._

_But don't worry," he said, tone edged with warm sympathy that made the hairs on the back of Ron's neck stand up. "You might not come back. You could just keep destroying, and at the end of it all fizzle out like a dying flame."_

Ron didn't say anything further, and disappeared upstairs, making sure to close his door firmly behind him. He collapsed onto his bed with no intention of sleeping.

He needed to get food, but how could he bring that up when they were still new to the idea of vampires? His family were still wary; they never said it, they didn't have to, but he could see the fear laced in their eyes. Even Hermione, whose fear was graced with curiosity.

He wanted to warn her. Had done, in fact.

Curiosity kills the cat.

Ron lay down on his bed, facing the ceiling and thought he might try again. To sleep. Put a barrier between today, and tomorrow.

Ron's days all stretched ahead of him like an endless uphill marathon; that was one of the downsides of immortality, along with watching everyone you knew die.

But it was hard when the blonde girl in the forest ( _Del, Del, don't try and pretend she didn't have a name_ ) hung around like she was huddled in the corner of his room, eyes dead and cold; a permanent reminder of what Ron had done. What he could never redeem himself of.

The light turned off, his eyes flicked shut - but he was still awake. And so was the thirst, like a nightlight guiding him through the darkness. A lonely, perilous flame in a world of hurt.

He should really do something about it soon. Tomorrow, Ron decided, he would bring it up. His family's unpreparedness be damned.

Because he still had a few days, right?

* * *

Things were not fine.

Ron couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. Every breath felt like his chest was crumpling further, like something was crushing his lungs into balls of flimsy tin foil.

Everything inside of him was tied to a single thin string about a second away from snapping completely; unleashing the immense chaos it held within.

That was what it felt like. The thirst had spread from his throat, burning through every fibre of his being - scorching his veins until it felt like jagged ice was threaded underneath his skin, from his toes to the tips of his hair.

It was excruciating. Ron thought he was dying; it had never been this bad before.

_Can't die, can't die, only sixteen, no, no-_

_It would break his mother's heart-_

The haggard thoughts dragging through his mush-filled brain like a very effective sieve hurt too, adding to the already miles-long list, making it felt like his head was being sliced in half.

His vision was completely off, too. It had been messily cut in half and pieced together jaggedly, like a broken jigsaw. His sight wasn't weakened, though - only strengthened. He could see every single spec of dust lining his window, every strand of the rug beside his bed, every splinter of wood that made up his dresser; he could see it all, all at once, and that was what was confusing him, making him dizzy.

His ears, too. Ron felt like his head was completely hollow; cement lined his skull and yet he could still hear _everything._

Movement was out of the question. He couldn't shift an inch without feeling like a shard of glass had impaled him in the stomach. It was like his senses had been cranked all the way up, and his body, the softer parts of it, (namely organs), were still trying to catch up.

It started almost as soon as he got out of bed. Late, considering he hadn't slept. He'd been all right for a second, the pain only hitting him once he'd gotten a few steps toward the door. Immediately he'd been overwhelmed by it, nearly crashing into the wall and slumping into it tipsily. He'd just lain there for lack of anything better do - out of immeasurable pain so great Ron thought he was going to pass out for a second.

The pain was going to kill him. Because although Ron was immortal, he needed one thing to stay alive: blood. And pretty frequently, if this fucking full body ache from the lowest level of hell was anything to go by.

Maybe he didn't have those few days he thought he did.

He couldn't move. And quite soon, that was going to cause issues. So he had to get up, and get himself help - because his family wouldn't know anything was wrong... especially not when they had all firmly strayed away from disturbing him in his room.

What, did they think they were going to see him swinging from the ceiling as a giant bat?

He'd been grateful for it, anyway. The privacy. Until it stabbed him in the back.

Gritting his teeth until he thought they were going to shatter, Ron lifted himself off the floor, gripping his side tightly and grunting through the pain.

He limped disjointedly over to the door, peeling it open, carefully, carefully - so as not to irritate anything else in his body, and begun to lean heavily on the wall.

This was better. Hobbling along Ron made it to the nearby stairs that would take him down to the middle floor, and then it was just one more to the bottom floor, where his family all were-

 _Oh Merlin_. The pain disappeared, and he felt like he was alive again. Ron caught a smell that made him breathe in deeply and relish in the warmth of... whatever it was. Hot, and smooth, and metallic. Iron, he could taste it already. Ron could imagine having the blood on his tongue, the feeling of a spike puncturing his vital organs loosened. It tasted fucking amazing, and it was a cure-all for the aches.

And it was coming from downstairs. Ron was running before he could even process it, all prior injuries forgotten as he practically flew down the stairs, the traces of the taste leaving his tastebuds and the salivation coming to an end. Making him desperate for more. His feet were hardly touching the steps.

He was nearly there, Ron was nearly there, he could nearly taste it - adrenaline thrummed through his veins, spurned on by the hint of blood drifting in the air, the hammering of his family's heartbeats and the rushing of their veins. And he wanted some - oh bloody hell, he wanted some... needed some... His extraordinarily dry throat watered at the thought.

He wanted to take it, take it all, keep on taking until there was nothing left. Until the hurting finally stopped, and he could forget himself and drown all the mishaps of the past few weeks in clotted, red ichor.

He nearly crashed into the kitchen before he remembered. Really fucking remembered.

What? What had he been doing? Thinking?

Again the hurt rushed back, leaving him blind and fumbling around in dark spasms of pain. He couldn't see anything for a good second or two, couldn't hear or smell anything. It was like his senses had entirely shut down.

He cried out in pain, trembling and trying to back as far into the wall as he could without breaking it, smashing everything around him up in pieces. He jerked, trying to keep his eyes open as they threatened to shut, tried to rescue his skewed thoughts from being reduced to his instincts again...

The place where everything was okay, where he didn't have to worry anymore. Ron laughed, smiling widely. He was back again, drunk on the intoxicating hue of blood.

He was finally going to kill them all, resolve having waited long enough, and _really_ enjoy it. Not like the last few times he'd had blood. He skipped down the hallway, nearly there, nearly in the kitchen; he would get what he needed, finally-

No! He couldn't fucking do this- no, no, no, the pain was back, why was it back, why-

He wrenched his true self back again, _true_ self - the darkness hiding behind the pale, frail shell of Ron Weasley. He could do what he liked, he wasn't bound to this place - he would live long after the rest of the filth around him, so why not kill if he liked? It all wasn't going to matter anyway, in the end. Mordecai had been right.

Ron was wrestling with himself, trying desperately to anchor the small string threading the pieces of him together. But it was slipping fast.

Things were getting darker. Was it night again? When he opened his eyes, would Ron be back in the clearing again? See Mordecai stood in front of him, wand pointed in his direction? Blood glinting across the other vampire's pointed teeth? He could feel his own, straining against the constraints of his gums. He wanted to sink them into something physical, tear it apart, drink in the chaos and the murder and torture...

Ron had a few last fleeting thoughts before he lost the grasp on his morality. And it was that he had waited too long.

_I didn't have a few days._

_I barely had a few hours._

For fuck's sake, why hadn't he said anything yesterday? Because now, they were all going to pay, all of them, for Ron's mistakes-

_I'm going to kill them all._

* * *

"Rodolphus? Who is this you have brought here today?"

He looked back at the Dark Lord unflinchingly, already feeling tendrils of Legilimency trying to slip past the barriers of his mind.

He cleared his throat; of dryness, and nerves. "This is Mordecai," Rodolphus began. "He is the vampire that turned the Weasley boy-"

"You brought a _vampire_ to my home, Lestrange?" sneered Lucius, but Rodolphus paid him no mind.

"He's... civilised."

Voldemort spoke again, through a thin-lipped grin, taunting. "Is it silent, too?"

Rodolphus held his breath; Mordecai had to make the right impression, or it would be both of their heads taken - and to his relief, the vampire complied, glancing up and methodically scanning the table and its occupants, appearing apathetic to the whole ordeal.

"Not quite," Mordecai replied smoothly. Voldemort simply raised a brow.

"And where did you find him?" he addressed Rodolphus.

"I knew him prior to now. Rabastan, Bellatrix and I first met him when we were in Hogwarts. The summer of sixth year."

Voldemort nodded slowly."Bellatrix?" he asked the follower to his side, and she visibly snapped to attention, dark eyes leaving Mordecai's motionless form for only a few moments. "Is this true?"

"Of course, My lord. My husband does not lie: I chose him well," She hastened to answer, adding a rich snicker onto the end.

She hadn't chosen; neither of them had. But Rodolphus didn't care: he knew how these pureblood marriages went, his mother and father being perfect examples. Appearances were kept up like impenetrable smoke screens until the day you died.

Still, Bella had been right. The marriage had been (politically) a good match.

"Good. But why is it _here_ , is my question." Voldemort waited, hands pressed together streamline and expression like he had Rodolphus exactly where he wanted him. Trapped.

He put aside any rising panic, and licked his lips, continuing on with his piece.

"Because, my lord, I think he would be an asset to the second stage of the plan. And he should be here to hear it."

"Second stage? So that is going on ahead, then?" asked Mulciber, from the other end of the table.

"Of course it is. Phase one was successful."

Everyone's attention piqued at that, Bellatrix being the first to speak again with a hungry look in her eyes.

"You did it? To that- the Weasley boy?" she said, words sharp. Tinged with a tang of jealously that he, Rodolphus, had been able to do something worthy. But then she turned to Mordecai. " _You_ turned him into a vampire?"

"Yes," said Rodolphus smugly. "It was all my-"

"It wasn't your anything," Mordecai cut over the top of him, voice like polished steel, and Rodolphus remembered why he hadn't spoken to him in years.

Damn Mudbloods, always stealing the attention.

They had only been friends when Rodolphus didn't know what he was. And he only maintained the connection for when it was useful to him; Mordecai probably knew that, but it meant money, so he didn't particularly care either.

"I did it all; you just gave me the orders," he said, still bored. He turned to face the rest of the table. "It was all me."

"How did you do it?" asked Bellatrix, breathing quickly.

"I attacked when he left the perimeter of the wards. It took me a few weeks, but I got lucky," he shrugged.

"What, and the Order just happened to miss you?"

Mordecai looked cross. "No," he replied, slightly stroppy. "I was careful. I know what you all think of me and my species, but we can put aside our hunger."

No one believed him. Bellatrix frowned. "Then what was the point of turning the Weasley boy?"

Mordecai smiled widely. It looked odd, twisted; hence why some of the weaker members cowered under it. "Sensible vampires can put it aside. But the boy... he's terrified of vampires, and of himself. He hates what he is, what he's become, what's he's done, and I made it that way. I convinced him for _weeks_ that he couldn't tell anyone, that they'd all hate it for him. He lied, to everyone. I told him I'd kill them all if he didn't."

"Then where did things go wrong?" someone asked, some nameless lackey sitting a few spaces away.

His smile grew fainter. "If that veela sister-in-law hadn't turned up, I don't think he would have ever told them."

"Who? That Delacour scum?"

"Correct."

Yaxley grumbled across the table. "I knew we should've gotten her while her and that Gringotts bloke was travelling back from Egypt," he said, voice a low rumble.

Voldemort drew in a bracing breath, his followers' queue to shut up and listen again (as a small, hushed conversation had struck up), and leaned forward in his seat, the head of a snake creeping up from his lap.

The man didn't waver, Rodolphus would give him that. Even when being stared down by one of the most formidable wizards in all of wizarding history.

"Why didn't you seek to join our side before now? A spy for the Order, perhaps?" he suggested, and immediately people around the table began to nod. They would go along with just about any suggestion Voldemort gave.

"I didn't see the point," Mordecai replied. "A new conflict appears every ten years, and it's dealt with quickly-"

"This will not be _dealt with quickly,_ " Voldemort hissed, like he had been grievously insulted, murderous intent striking across his face for the first time of the meeting. "It is no ordinary mortal conflict - I am _immortal_ , and I will be around for far longer than any other petty fight. I wish to have the world under my command, and I shall. The Muggles will be shown their proper place, along with the Mudbloods, and purebloods will rise above."

Well, he had gone with the assumption Mordecai was a pureblood, and no one in possession of the true knowledge bothered to correct him.

"And what about us? The vampires?"

He considered Mordecai for a moment. "Those weak will be crushed along with the other filth, and the... useful, will be valued. Those useful to the cause."

"And what if you're not as powerful as you think you are? Couldn't someone come and destroy that immortal title you seem so sure you have?"

"They will not," Voldemort eyed him levelly, "I have made well sure. And your doubts as to my power..." Rodolphus suddenly noticed the wand twirling around his long, slender fingers, and gulped.

The Dark Lord's hand suddenly shot out, and after a silent spark of green - fleeting, over in a moment - one of his followers fell dead from their chair, slumping to the floor in an incongruous heap. Lucius Malfoy grimaced.

"If you wish for more proof, I would only be happy to show you," he said menacingly, but Mordecai was still looking rather flat. Not quite bored: no, the sharp flickers of his eyes to each exit in the room were too frequent for that, but not impressed either.

Mordecai exhaled shortly. "I suppose... I could help with phase two, then."

" _Good._ "

* * *

The last thing Ron could remember before losing consciousness entirely was the bottom of the stairwell, and then a knock at the door.

From there, everything had gone quiet.

He woke up when the sky was dark outside, wondering where the day had gone, and what he had been doing. Swallowing, Ron looked around, and-

Swallowing. He swallowed, and it wasn't painful. He did it another three times, just to check and salivate in the smoothness. His throat actually felt... pretty good, for once. And it wasn't just that - the pain that had radiated through his joints, tightening them the thirstier he got was gone too. His chest felt fine, rising and falling without labour. No spike going through his organs anymore.

So, that meant one thing. He wasn't hungry anymore, meaning he'd drunk something. Blood.

But where from?

Well, that was... worrying. Ron blinked at the low light of the few candles positioned across his room, shifting slightly and-

He froze.

And sensing someone else in the room. Glancing up, he could make out a beard and a bright blue robe. Predictable; in this case that was a good thing.

"Professor Dumbledore?" he croaked in puzzlement, and the figure stood up, wrought gold half-crescent glasses winking even in the semi darkness. Well, he'd been right then. His wand was held at one side firmly, and Ron, levering himself up onto his elbows stared at it with increasing concern.

"Er, what- what am I doing here? Back in my room, I mean. I don't remember... What are you doing here?" he asked, still eyeing the professor warily - as he had every right to, Ron thought. He'd just woken up completely in the wrong time, with no memory of what had happened, and now the sky was dark.

What?

The headmaster twitched, eyes scanning him carefully, before he slowly lowered his wand. He drew nearer. "Ron," he began quietly. "I need to ask you something, and you have to answer truthfully."

"Okay," he nodded. "Go on."

"Good. Are you still thirsty?"

"What?"

His eyes suddenly blazed, the blue cool. "I need an answer, Ron. Do you still need blood?"

He frowned. He hadn't had blood: he was still thirsty, ridiculously so, so much so it felt like his throat tore in half every time he swallowed.

But that wasn't true anymore, was it?

So he'd definitely had blood. Dumbledore faced him with an expectant look, and Ron remembered he was supposed to answer.

"No," he said, firmly. "I'm not. It never really goes away, but right now, it's... muted." And it was true: the hunger for blood that before had felt so obssessive and all-encompassing had faded into the background again.

His face screwed up in anguish suddenly. "Professor, what did I do?" he said, sounding desperately tortured even to his own ears. Dumbledore observed him quietly.

"Nothing, Mr Weasley. And I think you seem all right," he gave him another once-over with his eyes, "So I'll go and notify your family. They are all very worried about you." Just before he left the room, however, he stopped.

Ron wasn't convinced in the slightest he hadn't done anything wrong, and of course Dumbledore could tell. So perhaps that was why he added, reluctantly, "You attacked me, and Mr Potter upon our arrival to the Burrow. You were utterly out of your mind, and I don't believe you were in control of yourself in that moment. I thought you might not come back," he said, sounding weary. "You were awfully still for a very long time, Ron."

"I'll go and talk to your parents now. Then, you can continue asking questions."

He left the door ajar behind him, and Ron sank back into his pillows.

He had attacked Albus _bloody_ Dumbledore, and Harry _fucking_ Potter. His headteacher, and his best mate.

What the hell were his chances at getting into Hogwarts now?

* * *

He hadn't been waiting long before his parents entered the room.

"Ron," his father said, voice relieved and thick with emotion. His mother sighed into her hands, pressed them against her face.

"Oh, Merlin. We thought you were _dead,_ " she said, uncaring of how it made her husband flinch. "You were just so still."

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Dumbledore mentioned. But... it's just how I run, you know? No- no heartbeat," he offered up thinly.

His mum gave a thin smile, but he was used to that by now. A worn expression hiding the messier emotions underneath.

Ron swallowed. "And you mentioned that Harry turned up?"

They nodded, and he could tell just by the stillness of their eyes that he had indeed just attacked his best mate. Or, former best mate if he'd just attacked him. Fuck.

"Is he all right?"

"Yes. Dumbledore managed to, er, stop you, before you could do any damage to anyone."

Fantastic. So he'd nearly hurt more than one person.

He nodded. "Right. Well, I don't remember it at all. I just know I'm not thirsty anymore."

They exchanged worried looks.

"Good," his mother nodded. "But Ron - why didn't you tell us that you needed blood I thought that was how we were going to do things now, that we all tell each other the important things."

He shrugged, picking at the quilt and fingers looping under threads. He was careful not to push in too hard; his strength was still elevated even when not thirsty.

Grimacing weakly and avoiding the concerned expressions of his parents, Ron instead looked into the hall, where he could hear voices ringing in the background and see light flooding up from the bottom floor.

"I was going to," he eventually said, "this morning I was planning on bringing it up. But when I woke up everything hurt, and I was just going to get you when-" he paused. "When whatever happened, happened."

"But how am I even supposed to start that conversation? I still don't know what the bloody hell I'm doing, Mum, I've only done thisa few times and I completely f- messed it up, like really badly-"

"Breathe, Ron," his mother reminded him, but Ron shook his head. He stood up from the bed in one fluid motion, pushing his hair back in one frustrated sweep.

"No, really, I don't know what I'm doing. At all. And I- I've even-" he stopped then: voice cutting out like a flatlining pulse. He just couldn't seem to say the words, let his parents know he'd _killed_ someone, that their precious son wasn't half as good or the same as he used to be.

It was too much. Often he felt like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff, mind hanging on by a few strands, the string that had snapped earlier nearly stretched to breaking again, eyes unable to focus on what was in front of him, for once glad he was glad his own pulse didn't exist. Because he knew it would be hammering like a rabbit's.

Dumbledore walked back in. Ron stilled, froze, paused entirely at the sight of the headmaster.

"What?" he said sharply when the man didn't speak.

Blinking a few times, Dumbledore faced him with an imploring stare. "I believe I owe you an apology, Ronald," he told him, and Ron bristled.

"What for? None of this is your fault." He didn't have to feel guilty for Ron's fuck-ups. "It's all my stupid fault for-"

"Don't you start, Ronald Weasley," said Molly tersely. "Don't put it all on yourself, I know what you're like-"

"Your mother is correct." Dumbledore cut in, polite and courteous as always, before the argument could get any worse. "It was no fault of yours that a vampire was sent after you. I know many wizards four times your age who wouldn't have been able to keep it together, so you've done well. But I still owe you an apology; my abrupt departure the other day may not have been the best idea."

Ron just looked at him in confusion. What did he mean? Surely not that he would be allowed back in Hogwarts, especially not now.

Ron felt something inside of him shatter. Hermione would be devastated he couldn't, more so than one of her friends attacking the other. Because apparently he had _actually_ done that. Would Hermione hate him for it? He hoped not, the summer had been more fun with her around.

He sighed heavily, blue eyes flickering over the floorboards with what Ron could tell was genuine guilt, and regret. "From now on, Madam Pomfrey will be providing you with the necessary materials so another day like today doesn't happen, since she has some on hand for emergency tranfusions. Blood, in less gentle phrasing. You will need it when you return to Hogwarts."

"What? I can go _back_?"

He could hardly believe his ears.

"So hang on, hang on, let me get this straight," Ron began to splutter with a frown, and Dumbledore nodded for him to go on. "I attack you, and Harry, who is another _student_ \- and you're just going to let me go back?!"

"What else would you have me do, Mr Weasley?"

"I don't know... keep me here? Private tutor? Something about the safety of everyone else?"

With a pensive expression, Dumbledore seemed to truly weigh his words before responding. "While yes, it is a risk, I believe you should still be able to come back. Hogwarts is truly open to all, no matter who you are or what you are."

"And not to be rude, Molly, Arthur; but I don't think Ron is any better off here than he is at Hogwarts. The school could be better for him, in fact, with experienced professors."

Molly made to argue, and then shook her head. Swallowed. "I- you're right," she said resolutely. "Ron, I'm sorry too. I... didn't think about how stressful this must have been on you-"

"No, _I'm_ sorry, if I hadn't gone and gotten myself in this mess in the first place none of this would have-"

He's still shaken from earlier, and everything that had happened today. But slowly, it was simmering away - not completely, it would take longer than that... but he felt better with his family immediately wanting to back him up.

"We should've paid more attention-"

"I shouldn't have lied-"

"I'm so sorry Mum-"

Arthur came forwards and tugged him into a hug, Molly quickly echoing the embrace. They both pressed him in tight; it felt warm rather than claustrophobic, and Ron felt a burst of happiness hurtle through his system opposed to the usual anxiety. It was a nice change.

"We're sorry," Molly said, bright-eyed and nodding at both her husband and her son. "Ron," she said to him, "Nothing is your fault, okay? And everything's not over." She gave him a warm smile. "You still have a future... even if it's not the one we imagined for you."

Ron nodded, feeling himself grow a little weepy at the sudden embrace of his family. He'd known they didn't despise him, of course - but it was nice for some reinforcement that they were still rather fond of him. And if Ginny's increasing attempts to strike up conversation with him and mildly awkward smiles were anything to go by each day, she felt the same way. Hermione too, with her frequent attempts to include him in things rather than letting him skulk off to his room.

She'd been good from the start, and continued to be. It was nice having some kind of regularity.

He felt properly happy. Not dying of thirst, or drowning in a well of his own self-loathing, but perfectly all right.

Ron found he quite liked the feeling. And he could go back to Hogwarts, too - confirmation from Dumbledore himself, Merlin, he felt like there was some kind of catch-

"I'll need to give you a trial period, though," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps just a few weeks spent monitoring you closely to make sure the school is safe for you and the other students."

So, there was a catch. It wasn't so bad, though.

"And I'll need transparency, too," Dumbledore told him solemnly, and Ron just nodded. Hopefully the catch didn't extend to midnight trips to the kitchens.

He was imagining it now, though: walking to lessons with his friends by his side, mucking about with games of hangman in the boring lessons with Dean and Harry-

Harry. Oh _shit,_ he'd forgotten for a second.

Ron drew away from his parents, turning back to Dumbledore. "What about Harry?" he asked in earnest. "Are you sure I didn't do anything to him? Is he all right?"

"Positive," Dumbledore replied. "I checked him over myself. He's downstairs."

"Come on Ron, let's all go. I don't like the idea of you being all up here on your own anyway," she said, scanning the room like it had grievously offended her in some way. Like the bare walls (he'd taken down most of the Quidditch posters; they were too distracting what with all the movement he couldn't help but catch with his super-charged eyesight) had insulted her personally. She tutted at them.

"I think that would be a good idea." Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, gently pushing them further up his nose. He began to walk out of Ron's room (oh Christ, Albus Dumbledore had been in his room with dusty socks on the floor? No, no time for panicking about that, he was going to helpfully forget instead) and everyone else followed behind.

The trip down to the first floor Ron barely remembered. Down one flight, another - hell, he could've gone down six flights of stairs and he wouldn't have noticed. He gritted his teeth, nerves thankfully sitting still for once. Because there was nothing he could do; Harry would either accept it and move on like Hermione had, or he would never want to see him again.

He was still on edge, though. Every noise he heard, every whisper of the wind. Everything seemed to set him there and deserted him.

And then, he'd have to clench his fist before he blew something apart with all the new spells he'd learnt.

He heard them before he saw them.

"...Really? I thought they would only follow-"

"No. Hedwig sometimes-"

Harry stopped, and glanced up at what had made Hermione trail off so suddenly. His eyebrows shot to his hairline, green as always and framed in those same spectacles. He was staring rather owlishly through them, and although his hair was longer, and he was taller, he was still the same as always.

Ron suddenly felt self-concious. He wasn't the same - or he was, in some twisted way. Ron was the same he had been before, and he always would be. Other than the red eyes, of course. Fangs tucked behind lips that weren't revealed unless he wanted them to be.

He didn't know what do to. Should he speak first, or Harry? It was all a bit confusing.

"Uh," Harry began eloquently, and Ron felt reassured.

He conceded a small grimace. "I'm- I'm sorry, everyone," he said, addressing Ginny and Hermione also, both of them sat in the battered sofa on one end of the room. The night air poured in through a window and Ron felt like shivering, despite him not being able to feel temperature.

"I-"

Again, Harry stopped. What the hell were you supposed to say in this situation, anyway?

Ron folded himself gently into an armchair across the room, adjusting his feet lopsidedly under the coffee table out of habit. Maybe seeing something familiar would help, at least.

Dumbledore spoke first. "I have decided that Ron will be returning to Hogwarts this year, after some... setbacks of his I realise I could have helped with."

Ron wasn't sure how, but it managed to trigger a conversation. Harry looked up with wide eyes.

"Wait, you weren't going to go back to Hogwarts?" He asked in surprise, eyebrows slanted in a slight frown.

Ron shrugged, fingers trailing across the seams of the sofa's side. "I wanted to, but we weren't sure if it was safe for me to... be around that many people."

Harry's expression creased in confusion for the briefest of seconds, before he realised exactly what Ron was confirming. He wasn't sure what Hermione and Ginny would've filled him in on, Ron not being in the room but passed out upstairs and all, but he hoped they had at least given them the barest minimum. Explaining everything from start to finish yet again would be excrutiating.

"Oh," Harry said. "So you are a, um, then."

"Um?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Vampire." Harry returned quickly.

"Er, yeah. You erm- d'you mind?"

Harry thought about it for a moment. "Not sure," he admitted, expression unreadable and tone thick. "How likely are you to drink my blood? Or do you not do that?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I do that. Have to, otherwise I'd die."

Harry nodded too, in understanding. Ron didn't question the 'in understanding' part.

"What about the sunlight? And the garlic?"

"Garlic?" Hadn't Mordecai mentioned something about that? Something about that being a-

Hermione stepped in to explain that part. "It's part of the Muggle myths," she said. "Vampires die if they eat garlic."

Ron frowned, thinking of his Mum's garlic bread. "I didn't."

Hermione held up her hands. "Hence why it's called a myth."

He nodded. "Right."

"Right." Harry was back in the conversation, after looking quiet for a moment or two.

"Not going to lie, it's a bit weird. You could kill me at any moment, and-"

"No, I'm all right for blood now."

"But regardless, you could if you wanted to, right?" Said Harry, fixing him with a calculating look. "Like just bite us. It's not like once a month you're dangerous to us, but all the time. Isn't it?"

His expression tightened. "And then it's not just us, but everyone. I can see why you might have, um, hesitated before."

"I wouldn't, though. Bite you all."

Harry winced. "I know. I'm sorry, but I... it was a bit unsettling, what happened before."

Ginny nodded. "It was. Sorry, Ron."

"I thought so too," Hermione said, shooting him an apologetic look. "Next time say something before it gets that- that far out of hand."

"You kind of came out nowhere-" said Ginny.

"I did hear a noise before it started, like someone stumbling down the stairs-" Hermione chipped in.

Harry nodded. "-Glad Dumbledore was there to stop things before they got too out of hand, though-"

"I'd like to add I don't remember a thing about that experience, so-" he held up his hands in defence, and everyone stilled.

"You don't remember it?" Ginny asked, eyes wide and calculating.  
"No," Ron replied quietly. "The last thing I remember was nearly collapsing on the stairs. It's kind of ironic, actually - I was on my way to tell you all I needed to go and eat something before, uh, something like this morning happened."

No one said anything. Harry stared at him.

"You can't reverse this, right?"

"No. There's no other way out than death."

"Right." Harry pressed his lips together then, eyes narrowed in the way they always were when he... disapproved of something. Was holding back something he wanted to say.

Ron cringed at the realisation. Well, that made Harry's conclusion perfectly clear. If the mild frown on his face already didn't. Ron knew it could've gone this way, but still... he was disappointed.

But, still, he couldn't jump to conclusions. There was nothing to confirm this-

"I'm going to go upstairs," said Harry. "Unpack some more, you know? Maybe do some thinking."

They all watched him leave without saying a word. He did actually look rather overwhelmed, so Ron wished him good luck with his thinking.

A thought suddenly struck Ron out of the blue. The other professors... would they be told about Ron? McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick? Snape? Madam Pomfrey would presumably be notified, since it was her blood they were taking.

Would it be easier if the teachers did know, or they didn't? How would lessons go with them all knowing what had happened to Ron?

"Professor?" He asked, diverting the room's attention (not to mention his own) away from the empty staircase, where Harry had just disappeared off to.

Dumbledore looked up. "Yes, Ronald?"

"If- if I am going back to Hogwarts..." _there were no guarantees, he could always change his mind,_ Ron reminded himself, "Who else is going to know about all this?"

The man looked deep in thought. "Professor McGongall will be notified, useful as your head of house and Professor Snape as an order member, but I have not decided anyone else. I wanted your input," he mused. "Molly, Arthur? What do you think?"

Ron frowned at Snape. Ergh. He didn't want that git knowing, but it was too late for that, it seemed; but oh well, what was Snape knowing when all the Death Eaters did already?

He had tried not to think about that side of things, but it was difficult. He just didn't know what to _do_ about it.

His mother looked unsure, clasping her hands around each other and banding her fingers together on her wrists. To the side of her, his dad adjusted his glasses again, a habit he had picked up out of nerves.

Her eyes creased in a wince. "Perhaps it would be best if people who had no reason to know, didn't," she said, shooting a surreptitious glance at Ron. "So that would include all of your classmates other than Hermione and, ah- Harry," her hesitance didn't escape anyone, and Hermione looked uncomfortable. "So maybe none of the other teachers," she added.

"What if someone does get close to the truth?" said Ginny. "Ron does share a dorm with... what? Three other people who don't know?"

Their dad looked stricken with concern suddenly. "Is that safe?" he began hurriedly. "Son," he looked right at Ron. "Do you think a repeat of this morning could ever happen?"

"I don't even _know_ what happened this morning, but as long as I'm kept on a schedule, no." Ron shook his head. "But can someone please tell me what happened this morning?"

Ginny happily filled him in. "You crashed in at the end of breakfast," she said, "completely out of your mind and wild. Started hissing."

 _Hissing?_ "Like a snake?"

"No, like a vampire. Bearing your fangs and everything - but then there was a knock at the door, and you went straight for it. Mum kind of screamed and dropped a glass, Dumbledore came marching in and just as you were about to leap on Harry - I don't know how you got over there so fast -"

"Again, vampire-"

"All right, we get it. But then, Dumbledore unstoppered this bottle of blood, tipped it down your throat; you coughed a bit, and then died."

"Died?" An incredulous expression grazed his face, and Ginny waved a hand in the air.

"Not exactly... it just really looked like it. You went all quiet and stuff. You weren't breathing, weren't moving, and your eyes were shut. It was quite scary, actually," she admitted quietly. "The whole thing was."

Hermione exhaled slowly. "I thought so too. I'd never seen you like that before."

"Well," Ron swallowed. "I'm glad I don't remember it then. I'm sorry you do."

Ginny shrugged. "What should we do about Harry?" she asked, and Ron reached up a hand to awkwardly brush the back of his neck.

"I don't know," Ron conceded. "But I thought this might happen with at least one of you. It was bound to happen soon, you know?

"At least he's the last person to tell," said Hermione, and Ron blinked. She was right. If they weren't going to tell any of the professors, he would be the last. And the worst, Ron reflected.

"I don't blame him," said Molly surprisingly. "If I'd been introduced to your, er, changes like that, I think I'd have reacted worse than I did."

"Sorry again for that, Mum-"

"Oh, it's all right, Ron dear," she reassured him. "I'm sorry again too."

"Me three," added Ginny, and she looked like she meant it.

"-But maybe if we talk to him, he can come around?" Ron paused. "How freaked out was Harry by the whole incident?" he asked.

"I... think he took it quite badly," said Hermione. "He was white as a sheet when it was all over, and his breathing only slowed down about ten minutes before you got here. Just a bit, erm, shocked. Traumatised."

Ron nodded uncertainly. "Well, scratch that, maybe one of you should go and talk to him instead."

"Maybe," Ginny said resignedly. "He kept tapping the waistband of his jeans, too - that's where he keeps his wand."

"How would you know that?" asked Hermione, and Ginny turned bright red. Ron ignored them in favour of listening up a few floors. He knew he shouldn't, but he was curious. And it was the middle of the day - no way Ron would do that at night if he could help it. There was little movement coming from upstairs.

Dumbledore turned to him, expression deadly serious again. "Ron, before I go, I must stress that you _cannot_ forget to take care of your thirst. You have to take control of your responsibilities, because the other students would be at risk if you decided to shirk them again. And should that ever happen, I would be forced to remove you from school. Do you understand?"

The entire speech had been given with that same iron expression, the headmaster's eyes burning with that cool flame that always caught Ron off-guard, and reminded him just how intimidating the man could be. How he had been a formidable force in the first war.

"I won't, professor," he said. "It wasn't pleasant for me either so I won't do it again."

Ron hoped he could hold himself to that promise.

* * *

They passed each other in the halls.

"Hi, Harry," Ron said, and the other boy nodded at him curtly before walking past. He barely even looked at him. Ron couldn't help but think it was a bit harsh, but he didn't press it. Didn't think he needed to, yet.

When they all played Quidditch together - Ron, Harry, Ginny and Hermione - they would hardly pass to each other, or exhange glances. It was all still so awkward.

Mrs Weasley probably knew something was wrong, but she didn't bring it up. And as long as they were still being polite to each other there... wasn't really a problem. Other than the unsettling distance between them.

A few days had passed since the encounter in the living room, and things had not improved since. Ron was still giving Harry space to think, but he was sure it was going, well, very badly.  
"Well," Ron's mum began, taking in a deep breath and humming at the cool summer morning outside, the withered flowers outside, mellowing in their pastel colours. "I think today would be a good day to go out to Diagon Alley. What do you think, children?"

Ginny hardly looked up from her book, almost missing her cup of tea to take a fumbling sip. "Sure, Mum. Just let me get through this last chapter, all right?"

"Yes, dear, all right." She glanced at Hermione. "What do you think, love?"

Hermione looked pensive. Today her hair was swept up away from her face, the heat making her sweat too much for it to be hanging around her face. She always said it was like a damp curtain in the heat.

Still, Ron thought with a smile, it was pretty similar to her usual hairstyle, and personally, he thought that had always suited her despite the messiness of it.

"I'd like to go today, too, Mrs Weasley," said Hermione.

Molly flushed slightly. "Oh, don't call me that, Hermione, Molly is fine. I think we're too deep into the summer for formalities."

Hermione smiled politely, and reached for a piece of toast. Harry did so after her, stretching up out of his seat to do so. Ron frowned; maybe he should start to push sorting things out. It didn't do to have no communication during Quidditch.

He swore, all this avoiding each other was like fourth year all over again. Ron grumbled, and took another drag of his water. At least that still tasted all right.

"Ron?" his mother asked, and Ron looked up again.

"What?" he said, just a little bit blankly, and Hermione scoffed at him behind her cup of tea. Harry did nothing.

"So? Diagon Alley today, what do you think?"

He mulled it over for a second, before nodding. "Sure. But I heard on the wireless this morning it was going to rain, so we'll have to watch out for that."

Ginny frowned. "I didn't see you in the kitchen this morning."

He tapped his ear. "Just my super duper hearing," he said, and glimpsed Harry shooting him an odd look out of the corner of his eye. Almost curious.

"You don't have that one all the time, do you?" She asked suspiciously, and he frowned.

"No. I think I'd end up going mad if I had that many sounds ringing through m'head - it'd be exhausting."

Ginny gave him a shifty look. "Good."

Mrs Weasley suddenly looked flustered. "Er, yes. Very good."

Ron shook his head at all of them, and looked up the table to his father, who so far had been silent all meal, frowning slightly at the paper. "Dad? You up for Diagon today?"

"...I don't know," his father said, shifting the paper away with a disgruntled huff. He took off his glasses, and folded them on the table beside him.

"More attacks yesterday," he muttered to his wife, lowered voice clearly not meant for the children, and Ron stilled. "Only found the bodies early this morning. Two families, one from Kent and the other from Durham apparently, near the-"

Ron tuned out then. He didn't really want to hear this part. But whether or not it was curiosity or just helpless succumbing to his nature Ron decided to keep listening for the next part.

"Two punctures on the necks of every victim..." his father read from the newspaper. "Suspected vampire attack, the third this month, infamous head of vampire clan-"

" _Arthur,_ " Molly hissed, and then nodded at Ron. "He can hear everything we're saying."

"Oh." His father's eyes widened in understanding, and then he stared at Ron, who glanced away and pretended he hadn't been looking over in the first place. He didn't think he did a very good job at fooling them, though, because when he looked back over again both parents were still glaring at him.

His mother was eager to change the subject. "Well- Harry!" The other boy looked surprised at being picked on, and nearly dropped his fork. "Diagon Alley? What do you think?"

"Uh, fine," he said. "I'd like to anyway-"

Hermione suddenly shrieked. "Owls! Three! It's- it has to be-" she looked apologetic, slowly turning red at her sudden piercing screech. "Sorry, everyone. But I think it's the OWL results - I asked Dumbledore when he was here, and he said they'd be arriving soon. Got a bit excited."

Ron felt something spike in the back of his mind. Oh. OWLs. He'd... almost forgotten about them.

He looked at them, and stared at the results for a few minutes as did everyone else. His mother congratulated him, Ginny looked worried at the mention of the OWLs, and his father gave him a proud smile.

Well, he hadn't done too badly, actually. He was quite happy with the results. He glanced over at Hermione's, and she'd almost gotten all Outstanding.

He smiled at her. "Well, what else was it going to be?"

Harry clapped her on the back and congratulated her. He looked at Ron's.

"I got something similar," he remarked nonchalantly and held up his own results.

Ron nodded at him. "Nice on the DADA Outstanding," he said, and Harry inclined his head.

"Thanks." Harry said, giving him a brief, stiff smile. "You did well too - congrats on the Herbology mark, I remember that one pissed you off a lot."

"Thanks, mate."

And then he was gone again.

Ron grumbled, and felt something uncomfortable stir in his brain.

He needed to sort this out. And the opportunity arose, Ron cornering him sometime before lunch.

"Harry," he said, and the other boy stopped. Turned round in the corridor, expression guarded.

"What?"

"D'you have a minute?"

He pulled a face, knowing exactly what he was talking about at once."Ron, you said you'd give me more time. I just need to think about this for a bit longer."

"It's been a week, Harry."

"But you drink human blood. I don't- that's just a bit difficult to accept."

Ron didn't know what to do. Walk away, or keep talking. He chose the second option.

"C'mon, Harry," he tried again, and finally the other boy stopped. "Would you at least talk to me?"

"What is there to talk about?" he replied. "You got turned into a vampire, tried to eat me, and then go about like nothing happened, like nothing changed."

"Look, I don't remember that-"

"But I do!" Harry exploded, and Ron wondered if maybe he shouldn't have just left him alone for a bit longer. But he was here now.

"I _do_ remember it Ron, and it was... not good. At all. I just can't look at you the same - and the eyes don't help," he added, half-laughing with distress and gesturing at his eyes.

Ron shuffled his foot on the carpet, and shrugged uneasily. "I- I get it," he said. "I'm still not used to it either. Sometimes I can't look in the mirror with these" - he gestured at his unnervingly red eyes - "but if I didn't keep my glamour off, I'd just not think about it. And I can't do that anymore, otherwise things like me ignoring my thirst until it hurt you all would happen again."

"I'm sorry, mate." He said, and he really meant it. Then he added, "but it hasn't been easy on me either. Did they tell you about Mordecai?"

Harry looked dubious. "Hermione filled me in somewhat."

Ron swallowed, and licked his lips. "Then you know what he did to me?"

"A- a bit. All the duelling and the manipulation and threats."

"Yeah. And the obvious turning-me-into-a-vampire thing because of Death Eater plots."

Something in Harry's eyes fell, crumbled, and Ron got a glimpse at the raw green underneath.

(Enhanced senses, sometimes they were handy to tell you what people were really thinking.)

"I'm sorry about that. And I still don't really understand why they did that, you know."

"Me neither. I hope we never find out." Ron grinned at him then, and he felt like he got a proper one back, albeit tired. "Basically, I'm sorry this is all a bit shit and that I've changed, but we're all just trying to adjust. Can you do that too?"

He considered if for a moment. "I... don't know," he said truthfully. "But it is getting pretty quiet around here without you to talk to. Been looking forward to speaking to you, all of you, all summer."

"That's good enough for me," Ron smiled at him, a familiar feeling swirling around his brain. Just like old times. He held out his hand. "So, mates? At least a bit?"

Harry took it gladly, shaking his hand firmly with one outstretched arm, flannel sleeves pushed up his forearms. "I- I can manage that," he said.

Ron was glad. Somewhat crestfallen that things hadn't exactly worked out like he wanted them to, but able to accept that this was good enough for the time being.

Suddenly, from downstairs, they heard a shout.

"Come on, boys! We have to go - Diagon Alley, remember!"

Harry and Ron exchanged an - at last - friendly glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks if you made it all the way through this massive chapter. I just needed to get it out of the way.
> 
> Final part of the summer coming next chapter, and then we're away to Hogwarts. I apologise that I couldn't add it onto this chapter, but this one was long enough without that.
> 
> -Tea33 :)


	18. Diagon Alley

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Eighteen: Diagon Alley

"Boys! It's time to go!" His mother called impatiently again, and Ron released his hand from Harry's grip. The moment of reconciliation was over, but still it stretched on in Ron and Harry's (somewhat) rekindled friendship.

They were friends again. And Ron was pretty happy about it. Harry gave him a final firm nod, moving past him to go downstairs and followed after him, brushing a hand over the back of his neck as he went.

"BOYS! WE HAVE TO GO, HOW MANY MORE TIMES-"

"Mum! We're here, calm down-"

Molly smiled warmly at them. "Right, well, if we're all here now."

"Other than Ginny," Ron remarked, and she nodded, sunlight flooding in to the side of her and shining on the clean plates stacked on the counter from breakfast. She had her hands on her hips.

"Yes dear, I completely agree. Now then, got your birthday money, Hermione?" his mum asked, and the girl nodded. Ginny was the only one left.

His mother huffed exasperatedly. "All I do for this family... GINNY!" Beside her, Harry flinched and covered one ear at the loud noise. "GET DOWN HERE NOW, YOU'RE MAKING US ALL LATE!"

After a few moments a disgruntled Ginny appeared, a short clattering down the stairs signalling her arrival. She had a frown on her face, her eyebrows were drawn in annoyance.

"I was just sending a _letter_ to someone, Mum, I'd have been down in a minute - you didn't have to shout-"

She ignored her. "Yes, yes, lovely dear, but we have to go now. Arthur, how long is the car going to take?"

"So it's not even here yet?" asked Ginny, mildly angry.

Harry looked puzzled. "What's not here yet?"

Molly turned to him. "Some friends at the Ministry sent down a car for us. It's safer that way. It'll be here in a moment."

"Why would they do that?" said Ron.

His mother shot him a knowing look. "Harry's quite a precious figure to the public, you know. We'd rather not lose him to Death Eaters while shopping for textbooks."

Harry turned red at that, stammering something about not wanting to make a fuss (everyone ignored him on account of Harry's tendency for danger). A car pulled up to the house, stopping about ten feet away from the door. It took only once of Mrs Weasley shouting "Come on, everyone, we have to go!" before they all piled in, anticipating the luxury of a smooth Ministry car, the kids in the magically-expanded back and Mr and Mrs Weasley in the front with the driver.

They pulled off, and the Burrow became a speck in the distance as they travelled onward to London.

* * *

Well, Ron mused after they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Muggles walking past oblivious; the car had been pretty good. They waited on the pavement while his dad spoke to the driver one last time, before the Ministry car pulled away again.

Ron sighed. Goodbye luxury.

It had been wide and spacious enough Ron to properly stretch out, feeling like a moviestar until Ginny snapped at him that he was taking up all the room, and his parents had been conversing quietly with the driver in the front.

The journey over had been fast and comfortable, magic aiding them to slip through traffic and quickly. He blinked in the dreary sunlight, bleeding through the grey clouds. He saw it all with blue eyes this time, the general distaste towards vampires preventing him from going out without a glamour.

Did Harry hate them? Vampires? Ron glanced at the other boy, and then frowned. He... wasn't sure. He knew his friend was heavily against creature discrimination, but then perhaps there was reason to with vampires. They had to drink _human_ blood. _Human._ And as good as it tasted, it was still something perfunctory, even dreaded, for Ron.

His family entered the small pub. It was much quieter than the limited few times Ron had come in here, few stubborn regulars the only ones still sipping away at drinks, huddled in small groups in the corners. Tom, the bartender looked ragged and worn, guarded stare latching onto them as soon as they walked in the building.  
"Molly, Arthur," he said, sweeping a dry rag over his shoulder and placing down a glass in front of him. "Kids," he nodded at them. "What can I do you for today?"

"Just passing through Tom, thanks," said Arthur. He seemed to battle with himself before adding: "And I'm sorry about your mother, too. It- I was one of the people who was put on the case."

Something in the man's expression shifted, became heavier. He fixed them with a sorrowful gaze. "S'all right, Arthur. Now you run along - the back's clear." He picked up the glass, the rag, and began cleaning again.

Arthur stopped. "Isn't the new policy to check us?"

Tom merely waved a hand in his direction. "You're all right, Arthur. I know your family's good."

Ron swallowed, and tried not to think about how he was considered the opposite of that.

They moved on, silent, moving away from the hushed conversations and dim, oily candlelight to a damp alleyway, now murky with the impending and residual rainfall and darkening sky. Spots of water were falling already.

His father winced, small dots soon appearing on his glasses. "It'll soon clear up," he remarked, earlier downtrodden moment forgotten before picking out his wand to tap on the necessary brickwork to get to Diagon Alley. Behind him, whether she meant to or not, Molly moved them all closer, keeping them in a tightly-knitted circle.

"Keep close, kids," she said. "Especially when we're walking down the main street."

The brick wall unfolded, crumbling apart and picking itself back up again to form an earthy-coloured archway. It all spread apart, to reveal a haughty-looking street lined with magical shops, each one entwined with a golden sign or adorned with syrupy windows. Ashen multicoloured roofs bent and twisted into the sky, mingling with the London skyline above; Ron found himself slightly uplifted, purely at the cobbled streets and moving pictures in shop windows. It was nice to be back where all the magic was, where he felt at home in his bones.

They didn't often go to Diagon, on account of it being expensive and busy, but when they did it was always memorable.

Before, Ron had always grumbled at the impending date of the first of September, not wanting to go back to schoolwork and essays and all the professors - but this time, things were different. He was different.

His mind wasn't on how much homework he'd inevitably get once he returned, but instead on the surrounding street. The people hurrying past in tight groups similar to theirs. In the back of his mind something kicked in, and his stomach clenched like he was back in the forest with Mordecai.

Every glance was measured, every turn of a head. He tried to catch everything, from the birds flying overhead to the whispering women in the corner who had fixed their gaze on the group almost as soon as they arrived. Just in case something went wrong, he'd have ample warning beforehand. The noise of the wall reforming to its usual shape was like grinding gears in his head, too loud - but Ron didn't flinch - he knew that if he did, he was likely to throw out some kind of hex, just on instinct.

He had spent far too many weeks with a maniac in the forest.

Ron supposed this was what having to watch your back, look around every corner for a looming figure in the distance did to you; always looking out for someone trying to take you down. Stab you in the back.

He was with his family, and so they were who he also had to watch. Together they began to move down the street, and still Ron was wary. Tightly coiled like a spring on the edge of exploding, as was everyone, including the people outside his family seemed to be. Ron's eyes felt like they were swivelling round in circles he was glancing about so frequently, constantly narrowing down on every corner, the effect not tiring.

He wasn't dizzy. Ron could handle this, this overwhelming detail. He'd begun gotten used to it after weeks, just like the constant threat of attack. It was quite normal going by the papers.

They passed a street-seller offering some pretty necklace for Ginny's neck, and Ron glared at him so fiercely the man bloomed a dark red colour and turned away.

Molly tugged her daughter in closer, and they made for Flourish and Blotts. Beside him Harry suddenly paused, and then nudged Ron after a moment's hesitance.

"Ron?" He murmured lowly. "How are you, y'know, outside?"

He briefly paused in his constant looking around to glance at him. holding up his hand just long enough for the metal ring to flash in the sunlight.

"Rune ring," he said quietly, after checking again for anyone listening in. It seemed to be clear, and they'd dropped a step or two behind the rest of the group. Ron let his hand fall.

"Protection, from the sun."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Someone gave it to me," he said quietly, hoping his friend would gather who that was. Harry nodded (whether in understanding or not, he didn't know) and then his eye caught on something behind. Ron turned to see what it was, and stopped dead.

There, plastered boldly against the copper background of a sign, covering some letters from a shop, was a Ministry poster. Ron knew that from the dark MoM printed on the front. But below read: _Do you really know the people around you?_

It was a poster warning about dark creatures. And if that wasn't bad enough, below there were four figures. People all with horrible varieties slashed crudely onto their faces; one had a wolf's head, hideous snarling fangs and filth-embedded claws protruding from bony hands. Robes torn. Another had large, gaping sores split across their face and a bleak, unnatural chalky tone to their skin - fit with crevice-like black eyes and a nose with a broken bridge. Like a vampire, but more creature-like.

The next had a shifting tone to theirs: if you looked at it one way, you saw a perfectly normal man. His features were grim, but still he looked normal. Then glancing at it in a different light, his darkened skin suddenly turned ashen. Blotched. All in one plastic sheen, with blood-red eyes and a mouthful of razor-sharp, blinding teeth. Ichor-filled veins trailed down his face and disappeared down his visible collar in the picture.

It looked downright terrifying, and it was no wonder that the next woman who walked past with her daughter turned her head away from it, distracting her daughter's attention with a fake wand with a boiled sweet on the end.

Ron gulped. Harry trembled slightly beside him, before clenching his fists turning around to go and join the group again. Ron fell into step beside him.

He opened his mouth to apologise, to consolidate, to do anything - but Harry beat him to it.

"You didn't look like that, you know," he said mutedly. "The- the eyes I think were mostly right. But the veins, the teeth... they weren't nearly that bad."

Ron licked his lips, and he could feel fangs pushing slightly on his lower teeth. But only slightly; with a glamour, it was unnoticeable that something was wrong.

He felt some of the tension drain out of his shoulders. "Really?" he asked.

"Really," Harry confirmed, and for a moment, it all felt a bit surreal. Then he shook his head, clearing it, and continued on.

"Well, that's good." said Ron. Harry snorted, and attracted the attention of Hermione.

"All right Ron? Harry?" she asked, and they both nodded.

Ginny turned around, intrigued. "Are you both on speaking terms again then? Don't think none of us noticed," she dropped her voice lower. "Might've been able to pull the wool over Mum's eyes for a bit, but don't think it worked on us," she gestured to her and Hermione.

Hermione looked pleased. "But it's good that you two're getting along. Hogwarts would have been very awkward, otherwise. Now, can anyone see Fred and George's shop? I asked your mum and she said soon, so-"

The group turned a corner, and Ron's eyes shot to his hairline, jaw had dropping all the way to the floor - and judging by everyone else's expressions, their wide eyes and slack jaws , they felt the same way.

It looked like an explosion, Ron vaguely noted, and a very colourful one at that. While the other shops were flat, ripped posters stuck on the front about escaped Death Eaters and Ministry safety precautions, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was like watching a firework display, the bright walls sparking with colour and life and most importantly, magic. Like the Burrow it seemed the place just thrived on it. Jesus Christ, it clearly belonged to his brothers.

 _Bloody hell_ , though. They'd really done something with the place, Fred and George had. And it was _spectacular._ Suddenly their constant showing off didn't seem so baseless anymore... if Ron owned a place like this, he'd probably gloat about it to to anyone that walked past.

And inside was even better. Walking in Ron was nearly hit in the face with some kind of sparkler, the glimmering drops of colour fizzing from it and joining the wild crowd hanging around each shelf, and as mildly annoyed by it as he was he still scoffed.

It was loud, though. He probably wouldn't spend much time in here on account of being deafened, despite all the hundreds products screaming at him with bright packages and description dragging him in.

Kids Ron vaguely recognised from Hogwarts and elsewhere filled the shop, all clamouring for a product; above it all on a winding staircase stood Fred and George, matching in their own mad outfits that fit in with the store perfectly, reigning over the chaos and proudly proclaiming it as their own.

They cried out as soon as they saw them. "'O family mine!" shouted George, and Fred bounded down the steps to meet them.

"Welcome, all! Mum, Dad, Ginevra, Ronald. Harold!" Fred bellowed at them, and their mother covered her ears.

"Awfully loud in here," she remarked above the noise, and both twins nodded eagerly.

"That's the point Mum," George informed her brightly. "Now then, what do you think?" He spread his arms wide, and Ron was the only one who could hear his heart thundering under his dragonskin jacket. The smile on his face was wide, flawless, energetic; but his racing pulse betrayed him. Fred was the same, heartbeat positively sparking at their arrival.

Well, Ron supposed, it wasn't every day your family saw what you'd made of yourself after dropping out of school, and judged you for it.

Molly stepped closer to her sons, now business entrepreneurs. Both twins took a surreptitiously steadying breath; Fred's pulse began to even out, but George's still remained elevated. He must be getting dizzy by now, Ron thought, but he held back.

His mum outstretched a hand, and clasped George round the shoulders. His grin relaxed into something less face-splitting, and his pulse stopped tolling like a bell in Ron's head. But again, everyone else was completely oblivious; Ron found his powers helping him notice details, differences he'd been in the dark about before.

Although Harry stood at his side unsure of whether to support him or not, things weren't all bad.

His mother smiled gently. "When I said it was loud," she said, "I meant that you really made it your own, George, Fred," she nodded at the other twin approvingly, and gestured for him to come closer. "I love it. This place... it's amazing. I'm still not sure how you got your start-up funds, and I was very skeptical of it in the beginning, but I think you've done an excellent job, boys. I love you both."

And then, she squashed them both into a hug so tight that both twins were soon turning a bright red, now a good bit taller than their mother and wheezing about broken ribs.

Ron snorted, and George sent him a death stare.

"I don't see where your successful business is, Ron," he remarked later on when their mother couldn't hear and Fred was busy telling Arthur about the Muggle card tricks and Ginny the new pygmy puffs, . Harry hid a snicker behind a cough.

Ron shot him a reproachful look, and the grin faded. "What?" Harry asked. "He is right."

Ron grumbled. "I don't see Potters' brooms either, you know, so you can shut it too."

Then it was George's turn to laugh. But slowly, he began to peer at him with an odd look on his face, something seeming to click under the surface. "Glamour," he said. "Right? That's what's making your eyes blue again."

Ron shrugged. "Yeah. Have to, here."

"Figures. I saw the posters," George said grimly, and Ron nodded in affirmation. "The Ministry loves to rag on everyone - it's not just vampires. Hags, werewolves... not veela so much, anymore, but there's still some debate about whether or not they can work without using their allure."

Ron swallowed. "Oh."

"Yeah. And trying to get anyone to take you seriously is difficult. It's unfair, really," George remarked. "Things are changing, though. A bit. For the dark creatures the laws've just gone back about twenty years from the latest announcement from the Ministry. Vampires are banned from shops again, no matter what wards are on the doors and who owns the shop."

Ron's eyes widened in alarm. "Oh. And- and what happens to them if they're caught?"

"They're just kicked out, and if they come back, it's Azkaban."

"Ah."

"Sorry mate," Harry said.

Ron gave him a grimace. "Nothing you can do about it."

George shrugged. "Yeah, it kinda sucks. So... keep up the, um - good work, little brother," his brother patted him on the head, shooting him a deeper look. "No matter if you mucked up a bit recently, as long as everyone's all right. I'm sure things'll work out."

Ron just nodded, and knew the 'mucking up' referred to nearly hurting Harry. Even if Dumbledore had been there, the situation had still been dire.

"Mr Weasley?" George turned to a woman with sleek dark hair, silver threading through the roots and a silver splash cutting through her brown eyes. "Where should these go?" She held up a box the colour of beetroot, and Ron's brother nodded.

"Over there, Lacey," he pointed to an empty shelf near the back of the shop. George turned back to them.

"Yeah, there's not much we can do. But hiring employees while not caring about their species does help. Shows that the Ministry's just a load of idiots, and that of course veela can be functioning members of society, and that they shouldn't be turned away for their heritage." He smiled as the girl made a treat appear from her wrist, offering it to a child with a friendly spark.

"Besides, she was the best for the job. Great with customers-"

"Better than Dan," remarked Fred, who had appeared out of nowhere. "And she's especially getting the kids' parents to buy things."

George sighed, evidently pleased at his handiwork as he glanced round at the rest of the shop, and rubbed his hands together. "So, anyone want to look around some more?"

* * *

A while later, they left the shop, arms full of goodies from the shop. Ron's dad was pleased with his Muggle magic trick set ("Oh honestly, Arthur, what's the point? You can already do magic," his wife had told him fondly), his mother content with some simple self-stirring spoons, Ginny set with a pygmy puff and Ron with some odd variation of sweets and gimmicks that Harry had also purchased some of. They'd be fun for Hogwarts, where everyone else was sure to have similar things. They'd already seen a few people in Diagon Alley - most suspiciously, Draco Malfoy.

Of course things only got more suspicious from there.

"Let's all go to Flourish's next, we need to get some books-"

"Mrs Weasley, can we make a stop at Eyelops' quickly? I know you said there was no need, but I wanted to buy Hedwig something."

Ron's mother grimaced, fixing Harry with a reluctant expression. "I'm sorry, Harry dear, but I don't think I can fit that into the scedule; I can send something over once term starts, though-"

"Oh, that's all right, just me, Ron and Hermione can go," he added. "Ginny. Didn't you say you wanted to look at a new book series or something?"

Ron's sister turned slightly pink, but covered it quickly with a flip of her long hair, catching on quickly to what Harry was trying to do."Yes, I did."

"Then we have some time to spare." Harry gave her a compelling look, and what the hell, Ron decided he'd help in his case, despite the fact he had no fucking idea what this was really about - because it certainly wasn't about owl drops. Ron wasn't that stupid.

"C'mon, Mum," he wheedled. "It really won't take that long. And I was looking at something too-"

"Oh, all right then," his mother gave in. "Fine. But be safe."

Her husband touched her shoulder lightly. "Are you sure, Mols?"

She nodded. "Yes. It is only down the road, after all. They'll be all right, won't you?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "I think we all know our fair share of spells."

His mother nodded one last time, drawing her cloak round her and hefting a bag of shopping higher up her arm. "Okay, children. Be safe."

And then, they had left, and when they'd gotten far enough away out of sight, Harry had run off. Well. Ron supposed this was the part him and Hermione were clued in on what the hell was going on. If he stopped stalking ahead and glancing in the distance at... Malfoy?

 _Malfoy?_ Were they- why were they following Malfoy?

Hermione shot him an equally puzzled look, having caught onto the same thing he had. They followed behind their best mate anyway, because how could they not after all these years?

Perhaps, Ron thought, this would be the point where the whole year turned into a whole shit-fest of mystery and Voldemort plots, as almost every other year had dissolved into previously.

"Harry, where the hell are you going?" Ron had hissed, and Harry didn't answer, just gestured for them to duck into a space sandwiched between two brick walls. They piled in beside him and Ron saved his questions later, focusing on what the hell they were doing following Malfoy - plus his mother - of all people.

They were crouched about half a street down from Borgin and Burke's, still technically near Eyelop's but not in Knockturn Alley. Never in Knockturn Alley; Ron valued his life too much to put himself in such danger from his mother like that.

"Not that this isn't a wonderful way to spend our time," Ron hissed, "but what the _fuck_ are we doing here, Harry?!"

Hermione winced at the whisper-shout so close to her ear. "I don't know either, don't yell at me!"

They both waited on Harry, who was trying his best to glance into the windows. "I can't... they're facing the wrong way, how am I supposed to tell-"

"Shush! I can hear what he's saying-"

They seemed almost underwater to Ron. He couldn't hear them, their voices too far submerged for him to make out.

_"The vanishing cabinet? But her twin is broken, I don't know why you'd want that-"_

_"I have my reasons, Borgin, and they are far above whatever measly cash you earn from this job. Now, just how would I go about fixing it?"_

Ron almost had it - he was all tuned into the frequency, ready to repeat back whatever the slimy git was saying when suddenly, a scream erupted from nearby. Or very nearby to Ron, whose ears were hypersensitive to everything since he was listening in on a conversation all the way down the road. The shriek grated on his ears, splintering all the way into his brain.

He clapped his hands over his ears, and the frequency was lost.

"S-sorry guys, I'll try again, just lost it for a second-"

"What was that?" Hermione glanced around, and her eyes widened. "Guys-"

"Hermione, Ron's trying to listen-"

He caught it again.

_"Master Malfoy, I told you, it's beyond repair-"_

A whistling noise shot right past them, fracturing the signal once more, but Ron wasn't focusing on that, he was focusing- trying to focus on the-

A pulsating purple light, sparking and cracking, smashed into a nearby shop and sent everything flying; there were people on the street, there wasn't enough time-

But to save the people sat beside him.

"Get down!" Ron growled, and pulled his friends to the side, seconds before the blast struck the street, and made the entirety of Diagon Alley shudder.

Everything blurred into a hazy mess of flames and smoke and destruction, everything splintering and cracking and breaking-

What- where-

It was loud. So, so _loud_... the sound reverberated in his ears, making them ring shrilly for a second. Ron shut his eyes, feeling a kind of warmth wash over them in one hazy, burning wave, and then something hit him in the chest.

_Were they safe? Harry and Hermione, were they safe, were they all right?_

It literally hit him: piercing his chest like a skewer, the sharp object embedding itself in Ron's chest as he lay crouched in front of Harry and Hermione, feeling whatever it was scrape through his chest and hollow it out a thousand times, the bones and sinew cracking apart to make way for- whatever this was. It made a clean slicing sound, and Ron-

_Gosh, he hoped his friends hadn't gotten hurt._

A second scream. It was Hermione's, ringing through the air and rousing a groggy Ron from the sleep the... _shard of glass?_ Sat in his chest had put him in.

Glass. In his chest. Ron blinked again, at the stirred street, tones of cobble and brick strewn everywhere and mixing together, and the iridescent material rammed through his ribcage turned grubby with smoke - and most alarmingly, blood. Or not so alarmingly: Ron could see it was his own, practically shredded shirt imbued with the frigid, metallic smell.

Well. Fuck. He had to get that out. Without a second thought he plucked a hand out from underneath him, diving quickly for the glass and tuning out his friends, who were still recovering from the aftershock and coughing and blinking in the bleary half-light.

Just- thank Merlin they'd been mostly sheltered by the thick coverage from the surrounding brick walls.

For a few gut-wrenchingly agonising seconds, the glass slid from Ron's chest and he saw it actually wasn't that bad - sure, he physically couldn't breathe, which was a little disconcerting, but he didn't need to - so it was all right.

He was choked up, panicked somewhat by it all, but what else was new? He was keeping his cool at any rate.

It was nothing he hadn't handled before. It still hurt like an absolute fucking bitch though - Ron choked and wheezed, throwing the glass on the floor beside some loose bricks that had come from the destroyed building. The road had come somewhat undone, especially near the blown up bookshop, but everything else was still intact.

Ron knew there were protection spells layered over Diagon Alley, lessening a lot of the damage if the place ever did dissolve into a warzone. But this time, something had gotten through.

Ron slumped back against the wall, gasping for some non-existent oxygen. He didn't even need it, but it was automatic still.

"Ron- Ron!" Hermione had rushed to his side, and was placing her hand on the bleeding, putting her hand on his very bloody chest with a gaping injury sat in the middle of it.

Finally finding the strength for words again, Ron scooted out of a crouching position and placed his hands atop Hermione's. He tapped them, and she loosened her grip, bewildered. Still he wheezed, looking for air, but with every moment that passed that primal need was getting dimmer.

In the background Harry hovered unsure of what to do, darting glances over to the crowd near the exploded building when he could. Breaking his deathly worried gaze from Ron. Ha. They were still friends then, sort of, if they were at least worried for him. He coughed once more, (ignoring the red hue that escaped onto his hand when he did so) and stood up, peeling apart his shirt slightly to show the wound sewing itself together.

"See?" he croaked weakly. "It all heals."

"Eurgh," said Hermione, and flinched away. Harry drew closer.

"Er," he remarked, utterly thrown, and Hermione winced. "So does it do that every time?"

Ron shrugged, voice still a rasp. "Yeah. Harry, can I borrow your jacket? Don't think I can walk out of Diagon like this, not without getting stopped."

And that couldn't happen.

"'Course." His friend thrust his jacket at him, and Ron put in on gratefully. Outside the half-rubble shop, the dust was clearing, the air sparking with apparition as the Ministry wizards and witches in bright red Ministry robes finally arrived. But before they could leave to find Ron's family - who he was quite worried about in all honesty - Harry stopped him.

"Your eyes," he hissed, and Ron blinked in surprise.

The glamour. Of course it had come off... well, this did count as a high-stress situation.

He murmured the spell to flick up his glamour again, closing his eyes for a second, and then glanced back at Harry and Hermione. "Better?"

Hermione nodded, dusty, dishevelled hair bobbing with the motion. "Much."

"Good."

He caught some of what the Ministry wizards were saying, all of them shaking their heads and wondering what the hell could've happened.

"Looked like a confringo, didn't it?"

"Can't've been," another woman shook her head, the bright sleeves of her Ministry robes falling past her wrist as she let them. "It was _purple,_ apparently. Wrong colour."

"But what spell could be like that? I'm gonna need to consult the handbook for this one. Haven't got a clue."

That left them with absolutely nothing then too, didn't it? Ron scratched his head, the three of them now standing to the side of the street and edging away from the scene (it was never good to get too caught up in these things, Ron had learnt the hard way; especially with the Ministry), and pondered what had just happened.

What?

He turned to his friends, sighing in exasperation. "Do either of you know what happened? This lot don't have a clue," he indicated at the Ministry employees.

Hermione shook her head, looking just as confused as he was. "No, not at all... it all happened so fast with the spell hitting, and then- _you_ got hit. I think it was a shard from the blast, since the shop had big windows."

"Hm. Maybe. I didn't see much of it."

"Me neither. And you're sure you're all right?" she asked, gaze heavy with concern.

Ron gave her a weary smile. "Yeah. I've... tested out my indestructability quite a bit, thanks to Mordecai," he said, and their expressions turned stricken. But before he could add any more, the rest of his family - including Fred and George - came rushing over.

"Ron! Harry! Hermione!" his mum shouted from when she got close enough, brown eyes wide with worry. "Are you all right you three?"

Immediately she began brushing them all over, and they gave her a hushed version of the events; by the time they'd finished the rest of the family had come over.

George shook his head tightly, and glanced over at the quickly growing crowd over by the wreckage. Dust was still in the air, covering almost everything and everyone in the surrounding area. Wands were out and casting spells, assessing damage and finally putting that dust to rest amongst the rest of the destruction.

"We're going over," he said, gesturing at him and Fred, and Molly nodded.

"All right then. Be careful. Arthur?" she questioned her husband, who also looked ready to join them. "Are you going to go too?"

His brow creased. "If that's okay," he asked, and his wife nodded. Now it was just Molly and Ginny left with the three of them, the youngest Weasley edging over the rest of their shoulders to get a better look. The cobbled street surrounding them was now tarnished with scrapes and chipped off clumps of stone, the whole scene of chaos mixing together to paint a similar stormy grey to the sky above.

Ron imagined they must look a sight, all covered in dust and

"Mum, we're all right," Ron told her. "I was hurt, but I'm okay now. Healing and all that."

"Hurt?" Her expression drew together with stress. "Where?"

He pulled apart the jacket he'd so carefully tucked around him so they could all see the remnants of his tattered and blood-stained shirt, the skin underneath unmarred by a single scratch. He grinned at them weakly.

"See? Nothing there."

After a moment's hesitation, his mother nodded, sounding tired beyond her years. "Sure. Sure. That's good. At least none of you were hurt too- too badly." She closed her eyes, pressed a hand to her temple, began muttering to herself quietly.

"Shouldn't have split up, Eyelop's was only a-"

"Mum," Ron said, louder. "We're fine. Everyone's fine-"

"But if you hadn't been what you are, you would've died!" she half near shrieked, and Ron couldn't agree with that assessment. Her face set into something stern, reproachful, and she grabbed his arm. "Come on, children. Let's go and get everyone else, and then we can go home, hm? How does that sound? I should get you all."

Ron nodded, but halfway through lost interest at the person who had just walked out of a nearby alley looking mildly ill, and extremely shifty. Malfoy.

He thought back to the earlier conversation he'd eavesdropped on.

_Vanishing cabinet? What the hell had he been on about?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Hogwarts. I know things have been very canon as of right now, but things'll change.
> 
> Apart from the, uh, whole explosion bit.
> 
> -Tea33 :)


	19. Ready? Set? G-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (A/N: Quick heads up that I won't be updating for another two weeks, so take this one slow.)

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Nineteen: Ready? Set? G-

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, everyone," said Dumbledore, and Ron had never felt less welcome.

It wasn't that the freakishly tight safety measures were unnerving him, or the constant movement overwhelming his senses with every adjusted hair or hushed whisper to a friend: it was that Ron felt completely estranged, like he'd been thrust into doing this, going back to school, and had no idea what he was doing.

It was rather funny reminding himself that he chose this. That he wanted to come back to this place to do... something he'd quite forgotten by now. All of it was dwarfed by the impassive reasoning that he, quite literally, did not fit in anymore.

Oh. Education, wasn't it?

Seamus had tried to joke with him on the train platform, and the first line had fallen flat before Ron could realise what on earth his mate was trying to do. And they were still mates, of course - one bad joke couldn't sink a friendship - especially since this year more than any, people were out of sorts.

Evan Levins, a decent enough kid a few years below him, had hardly said a word since sitting down at the bench opposite Ron. But he couldn't blame him after hearing what happened to his younger sister.

She had been killed in the blast at Diagon Alley, the same one Ron should've died in too.

(He wasn't going to bother totting up the number of times he should've died; the number was too high by now.)

Everyone was quiet. Silent. Sombre. And he had a feeling like they were like that even before someone went and hexed a bookstore, killing two people and injuring another five, according to the papers. They'd covered the whole story as an agonising warning of the Death Eaters, finally. Ron was sick of them covering up Death Eater business and pretending things were fine.

You could just feel it, like a tangible... _thing_ in the air. A dulled sadness, grief laced with too many other losses to properly make you feel. So for now everyone sat in near silence, a few brave souls keeping conversations afloat, because if they died too, it might be the last straw.

Ron gulped, and heard the motion repeat a thousand times in his head, louder than the girl tapping her spoon against her plate three rows away, deafening against the boy who kept blinking incessantly across from him, and booming to Professor Sinistra, who kept sniffing up at the high table. She needed to take a bloody pepper up before Ron forced it down her throat himself, just to stop the constant noise that dragged his attention in every which direction.

Christ, it was annoying.

Harry tapped his foot against the bench again, and Ron twitched. He kept doing that on the train too (one long, monotonous journey and rolling grey skies, if anyone cared, punctuated by drifting conversations). Just an odd pattern Ron couldn't quite follow, if there even was one.

He thought back to that day, when, following the explosion they'd all so narrowly avoided, his family had all crashed home completely exhausted.

His mum wouldn't let anyone out of sight, keeping them together in the kitchen long after the cups of tea had gone cold. She'd gone to bed then, coaxed up by a tired Ginny and Arthur, leaving just Ron, Hermione and Harry sat at the kitchen table. They were all wide awake.

Hermione had leant her cup on the edge of its bottom, seeing if it would balance. It didn't, and she propped it back up again, warm summer flowers painted on the outside by a four-year-old Ginny left facing Ron.

It was Harry who spoke first.

"I know it seems a bit... irrelevant," he said, "but Ron - did you ever catch what Malfoy was saying?"

_They had escaped, they were alive, how had they escaped again? How were they alive, how was he alive-_

Ron nodded dully and the chain broke. He didn't see the point in keeping it from them. "Something about a vanishing cabinet and how to get one working again."

Something flashed in Harry's eyes, the green flickering to life again. "We should tell someone. Do something," he said.

"Why? What would we do, who would we tell?"

"Dumbledore," Hermione offered, and Ron looked at her. "He did say to tell him if anything was going on."

A squirming sense of guilt wriggled in Ron's stomach, and he found himself shaking his head. "No. We- he's too... this is too small for that. We don't know something's even happening."

Harry scoffed. "Of course something's happening, Ron. It does every few months; we're due for a disaster-"  
"So what happened this afternoon wasn't a disaster?" Ron asked incredulously, and Harry shut his mouth quickly.

"No, no, I didn't mean that," he said quickly, and Ron shook his head.

"It's fine."

Hermione sighed, and pushed her cup away from her, dregs of tea at the bottom stuck fast. "But we all know what you mean... something does happen every so often to us. Usually with, erm, him involved."

"Voldemort?"

"Yes Harry, we know who," Hermione snapped, voice hushed.

Harry didn't indicate he'd even heard Hermione. "So do you think _he's_ behind the attack?"

The papers did, finally. They'd released a statement, just the usual damage control, telling the public not to worry and that the Ministry had it under control.

They didn't. Of course they didn't, and Ron wondered if they ever had.

"According to the papers, yeah," Ron said. "But usually they just say 'the Death Eaters', so as not to freak people out."

Harry's ran a hand through his hair, and leaned back on the kitchen chair."That's... _bad,_ then."

Ron didn't reply.

"Are your parents asleep, Ron?" asked Hermione, voice still hushed.

He listened a few floors up. "Um. Yeah, I think-"

Harry's heartrate suddenly spiked.

"I have it!" He almost yelled, and Hermione shushed him.

" _Be quiet_!"

He glanced at her. "Sorry, 'Mione."

She rolled her eyes, and gestured for him to go on. "Okay. So you have it. Let's hear it, then."

"Why don't we tell Lupin. Or your dad, Ron. That could work. Someone who could judge it before we go to the head of the operation."

Ron frowned, thinking it through. "I suppose. But mate, don't you think it could just be Malfoy-"

"No, it's not." Harry shook his head. "I know there's something going on, trust me," and he tapped his forehead. "After all these years, I have a pretty good sense of when something's going on."

They had trusted him. Until one day, a short week or so before they went back to Hogwarts, he'd knocked on Ron's open door, finding Hermione in there talking to him and nodded at them.

Ron didn't know what he'd say. He'd missed Harry's conversation downstairs talking to Hermione.

Harry had to stop and start a few times before he got any words out. "Your dad wasn't so keen on the idea," he began. "Maybe we were wise not to go to Dumbledore if your dad wasn't having any of it. He told me... well, he told me that I didn't have to go looking for trouble. And problems. That we had enough going on this year, that Malfoy was probably just going about his sketchy business, and that..." he paled slightly, and Ron felt his heart sink a little. "Even though we missed something with Sirius, and Kreacher, it doesn't mean there's something going on with Malfoy."

Ron swallowed. "Sorry about that, mate."

"About what?"

"Sirius. My dad being... blunt, about it all, and shooting you down."

Harry shrugged, dragging a hand through his bedraggled mop of hair. It was a wonder Ron's mum hadn't bullied him into a haircut yet. "Nothing you could've done about it. Happened months ago; I'm over it."

"Mhm." Ron gave a non-committal nod, and shot Hermione a look which clearly read: _in no world is Harry over Sirius' death._

It was written all over his face. But since his friend didn't seem so keen to talk about it, so Ron left it.

"So is he going to tell the rest of the Order you think something sketchy's going on?"

Harry scratched his head. "I don't know, but I'd guess not."

Hermione nodded grimly. "Then you know what that means, don't you?"

"What?" they both said in unison.

"It's all up to us."

The plates around him were filling with food, now; the feast had begun after a short speech from the headmaster, and the sorting was over. Something about banding together to defeat the darkness.

Everyone looked worried this year, and Ron couldn't deny he wasn't, either. Even Malfoy was, his pallor grey and dark rings stretching under his eyes. Changed from the pristine prat Ron was accustomed to seeing. He wondered what a kid on the dark side had to worry about, since at the moment it seemed they were winning.

Ron hated to say it, but from the headlines of the newspapers it was true. But it didn't look as though the dark side treated its members well.

The Order didn't know about what Malfoy might be planning, because it was only Harry (and in extension, them) who actually believed it. Ron's dad had brushed them off, so they didn't bother taking it further.

Still, he didn't have to go getting in trouble this early in the year - they weren't even off the train before the first scrap began.

Ron stood on the platform, Hermione by his side. As prefects they'd been the first ones out, and as the last people were shuffling out they still hadn't caught sight of Harry. Ron had told Hermione to just go, but she'd wanted to stay and wait, because they both knew what kind of trouble Harry could get himself into alone.

He had been surprised he was still a prefect, but what was he going to do - purposely go to Dumbledore and complain? No.

More worryingly, though, Harry was still not there. The last time he'd seen him was in their compartment, when he'd disappeared without warning.

"Mate? Where are you going?" Ron asked, confused.

Harry turned back, pausing in his dart in the other direction. He glanced at him for only a second. "It doesn't matter, Ron," he called back. "I'll be back in a bit."

Ron just nodded - he had carriages and hallways to patrol, and Slytherins to annoy. He really couldn't go with his friend right now...

At least not in person. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to keep an ear on the conversation; but it would be difficult with all the other conversations going on at the same time.

First, he caught on Slughorn's voice. The new potions professor this year. Snape was taking over DADA, and wasn't that a fucking annoyance for them.

The man was old and reminded Ron of a walrus, a sentiment Harry shared, and Ron hadn't been invited to the Slug Club. Wasn't _special_ enough, evidently. Ron just thanked hell he wasn't taking potions this year.

So he skipped over Slughorn's voice, going instead for Harry's... but he couldn't find it.

For a few more minutes he searched, using the guise of his rounds to glance in all the carriages. He was discreet in his travel up and down the train, not picking up a single syllable of Harry's voice and, in the end, with nothing else to do, gave up.

But he kept an ear out. And it came in handy - while he was stood on the platform, he heard amongst the silence of the empty train carriages a familiar sneer.

"So Potter, you thought you could just eavesdrop on me? On my private business?"

Ron turned to Hermione. "I heard him. I think he's in trouble."

He frowned, and began moving up the train, Hermione bringing up the rear swiftly. She marched along with her wand struck in her hand, the essence of power, and Ron was breathless for a second.

He slammed open a compartment door to see Malfoy stamping on Harry's nose, and Ron yelled the first thing that came to mind.

"Immobulus!"

It worked. The blond froze halfway through his kick, polished heel hovering above Harry's face and a snarl marring those pointy features of his. Next Ron muttered the counter-charm to freeing Harry, and pulled him shakily to his feet.

"You all right, mate?" he asked, and Harry visibily shook himself, feeling his nose gingerly.

Hermione looked at his shaken form, muttering something under her breath. "Yeah, he's okay."

"I'm... yeah," he said, a little dazed still, and glanced back at Malfoy. "What should we do with him?"

"Punch him?" Ron offered, and Harry considered it.

"How about we just leave him here? He was going to do it to me, so why not do it to him?"

Ron nodded. "Sure. But can I just vanish his eyebrows quickly?"

A large grin spread across his face, and Harry nodded cordially. "Of course, mate. Go for it, y'know?"

"Boys! No!"

After Hermione's claims that it would only get them in more trouble, they decided to leave it. But not after they'd had a good laugh at him stuck there like an idiot. And Harry's mutter that he was 'onto him'.

They left. And Malfoy was okay in the end, dragged back by some auror and walking into the hall ten minutes late with a sour expression on his face.

Ron adjusted the collar of his itchy uniform again, the tie too tight after a summer of wearing t-shirts, and leant his elbow on the table. He would try and join in with the usual feast conversations, detailing what happened over the summer and whatnot... but in a bit.

Flitwick knew. He'd purposely skipped over scanning him when they'd slipped through the gates to the school, giving him such a knowing look it would have been impossible to replicate if he didn't. So that made three - no, four, including Pomfrey - teachers that knew what he was.

Five, actually. Snape would know because of the Order.

Bloody hell.

Things were just beginning, and they already felt doomed.

* * *

Mordecai stood at the foot of the hill with Muggle change in hand; from a telephone box, the one he'd received a call from Rodolphus from. He wasn't a fan of them, never had been, but he had to put that aside to receive instructions about the next part of the mission.

The next part of phase two.

Mordecai knew exactly what it was about, what the mission entailed.

Just who he'd have to take. They'd let him go to the meetings and take phase two on alone. He'd done well on the previous group mission (explosive as it was), and made a request to do the next one solo. It was granted.

Hogsmeade was a pleasant village, he'd give it that. Mordecai paused on the next hilltop, admiring the view. But his destination lay on the outskirts: an old portkey station, abandoned years ago when business had run flat.

The walls were a dilapidated navy, and the windows were boarded up, but what drew Mordecai and the business of the Death Eaters to the place was the old cellar entrance outside. It took you directly through Hogwarts via a secret passageway, and although caved in, would open up another entrance into the castle once Mordecai had fixed it.

Two entrances were better than one - and one was better than nothing, if the Malfoy boy were to fail.

Mordecai kept going, kept traversing the coarse ground, milky rays of the sun suddenly splitting through the molten sky. Daybreak. His finger brushed the thin brass ring looped around his end finger, seamless other than the runes which scratched round the band. Silly to think the tiny thing protected him.

He saw the building in the distance, sun rays falling on the slats of wood covering the entrance to the side of it, rotted, darkened leaves strewn across it from the trees above. No one but the few who had found the passage when it was still... passable knew it existed, and no one would think to look there. The station itself had its own use, too.

Mordecai strode on down to it, turning his head far away from the glistening glow of the rest of the beautiful, historical village of Hogsmeade.

* * *

It was weird how similar things were to before, Ron thought, putting aside the intense feeling he shouldn't be there. He felt like they should have been astronomically different, but the fact was they weren't.

He went to bed, the same as always, after the feast.

"Coming, Ron?" asked Dean after the lengthy card game was over, indicating to the stairs. Seamus had played too, the three of them settling into easy conversation. Thank Merlin Ron had gotten the hang of it again.

He debated it for a second, although the answer was no.

"Maybe."

The other boy nodded, before disappearing up the stairs.

Ron rubbed his face in his hands, brushing them up through his hair. The feast had been all right - too long, in his opinion; all he'd had to do was sit around and wath other people enjoy normal food. Bit miserable on his part.

Afterwards he just patrolled a bit with another sixth year (they hadn't talked much - bloke was a bit of annoying in Ron's opinion, and now he just couldn't be bothered to maintain the image of friendship) and then he'd come back to the Gryffindor common room.

Harry sunk into the armchair beside him. The best ones were left, since it was getting late.

"You done that Transfiguration homework?" he asked over the loud crowing of some pissy second years in the corner. Shrieking and throwing stuff into the fire, as twelve-year-olds did. Ron could vividly remember him and Harry lobbing scrap paper into the fire and getting excited every time the thing went up in flames.

Ron pulled a face. "Barely."

Harry nodded. "Same. Wanna compare answers?"

"Aren't you tired?"

Harry shrugged at Ron scanning his face critically. "Only a bit. I'm still on summer hours, so normally I wouldn't go to bed for a few hours yet," he glanced at the darkness outside. The moon was bright tonight, but not quite full yet.

Ron frowned, and looked back at the fireplace. "Still, you should get some sleep."

"What's the point? I'm still going to drown in lessons tomorrow. I'm still not ready to go back yet."

Ron smirked. Lessons still seemed a long way away, and yet they were tomorrow morning.

"Are you going to be all right?"

Now Harry was scanning him with worry, and Ron shot him a nonchalant grin.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll get used to it all."

"Okay. Have you so far?"

"No."

Hesitantly, the other boy patted him gingerly on the shoulder. "Well, I... don't know. How you're feeling, I guess - but d'you wanna help me with the Quidditch team?"

Ron was confused. "What about it?"

"Mate." He gave him a deadpan look. "I'm the bloody captain. And I, uh, have no idea how to set up practices."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I- I knew that-"

"You said congratulations to me when I got the badge."

"Yeah, yeah, I remember now - no don't give me that look, I really do now!"

"Sure." Harry shot him a reserved look. "But can you help me? No idea what I'm doing, or how to do strategies like Oliver did..." he scraped a hand through his hair, messing it up extraordinarily, but he continued on oblivious. "What if I fuck it all up, Ron?" He asked. "Oliver would never forgive me. I haven't spoken to him since he left in third year other than a few letters addressed to the whole team, but he'd hunt me down if he found out I lost the cup."

Ron nodded seriously. Quidditch. He could do this. "Right, mate, just... go to McGonagall, like tomorrow afternoon, and ask for a slot on the pitch. Start working on strategies once you have a team sorted out. All right?"

"Okay."

"You can do this."

"I- okay."

Ron patted him on the back. "Good. Now then, Transfiguration?"

His friend nodded in response, and they both reached for their bags.

* * *

Harry frowned at a slip of old parchment, where Ron could see ink scrawled across the page. The Marauder's map; he noted it smelt like... chocolate. Odd. And paper, but that was less surprising.

His frown increased, and he drew in a haughty breath. "Malfoy's sneaking around."

Ron blinked. "On the first day?"

"Yeah. He's just rounding the west corridor of the fourth floor."  
"I could have him canned for that," Ron flipped over the page aggressively. "It's waaay after curfew. Get him banned from the Slytherin team for a while."

"He's not on it this year, actually," said Harry. "Heard it on the train when I um... snuck into the compartment. With the cloak."

Ron gave him a skeptical look. "So that's what you were doing."

"He was being suspicious," Harry said.

"Yeah. Sure. So buying yourself a... birthday vanishing cabinet is suspicious?"

"It's not his birthday. He'd have everyone, including us, the people he hates, if it was."

Well, Ron did remember the other years. "Fair point. It's for his mum, then, I don't know."

"Since when is a magic cupboard a good present?"

"I don't know, their family's weird. Stuffy and posh. And you know what those things do, so."

Harry paused. "What do they do, actually?"

"A magical tunnel exists between the two. Like you can vanish in one, and appear again in the other. Slap some rune on it, or use some spell, I don't know - one of the activators - and you can enter one and come out the other. According to dad they were pretty popular back in the day when people needed an escape route."

"Huh. So it _could_ be an escape route?" He thought about it some more. "What is Malfoy escaping from?"

"Escape route? Harry, I think you need to let this go. Come on, we've got to finish this before one at least-"

"He's gone." He suddenly announced.

Ron dropped his quill, turning in confusion. "You what?"

He held up the map. "Malfoy. He's gone."

"Gone where?"

"I- I don't _know_ ," he said in bewilderment. "I swear he was just there, in that corridor, and I looked away for a bit and he's just _gone._ "

Glancing back at his work, he saw he was at the conclusion. He had some time to spare. "All right then," Harry looked up, at Ron's determined expression. "Let's have a look."

It was a few minutes of searching in silence before they finally concluded Malfoy had disappeared. They barely noticed it was so late they were the only ones left in the common room still.

"That's weird," said Ron. "But I don't think we should worry about it. Like Dad said."

"But _Ron_ , it's really-"

"Put down the map, Harry."

"Ron! What if something happens again, and we missed it because-"

"Put that map down. Now. We probably just missed a secret passage, or something. Maybe the map is broken."

"Do you remember the Peter Pettigrew fiasco, or is it just me?" Harry spluttered. "You know what, the Barty Crouch Jr thing too-"

"I'm going to bed." He put the last sheet of paper back in his bag, and hefted it onto his back. Ron was halfway to the stairwell, shaking his head when-

"But you don't even _sleep_."

He turned round again. A beat of silence, and Harry's eyes widened.

Ron's expression soured, and he turned away again. Behind him, Harry begun to sputter out apologies.

"I mean, I'm sorry mate, it was a stupid thing to say, but-"

Ron told himself he couldn't hear any more, but he could. Bloody heightened vampiric senses.

Ten minutes later, Harry got into his bed, beside Ron's, and turned over.

Both were awake, for longer than they should have been. The difference was Harry was awake for another fifteen minutes after that, and Ron had been awake for months now.

* * *

"I'm sorry. I should've kept my mouth shut," said Harry as soon as he sat down on the bench beside him for breakfast. "And I'm sorry for how much of a prick I've been over the holidays and up to now - I forgot how difficult this has been for you."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He raised an eyebrow. "But will you drop the Malfoy stuff now? It's getting weird, and there's nothing going on."

Harry grimaced slightly, but eventually gave in. "Fine. If it means you're not pissed off at me, I'll drop the Malfoy thing, there's probably nothing going on anyway. Sorry for getting a bit obssessed." His expression twisted further. "I tend to do that a bit, I think. I'm sorry, I'll try and stop. When it's not important," he couldn't help but add, still looking uncertain.

Ron didn't look at him and instead picked up a sausage and some egg; the portions were way off to what he consumed before, but it was his fault for coming down to breakfast late. He should've gone early, before anyone else. That way he could say he had eaten when in fact, he hadn't.

Hermione suddenly came and sat down on his other side, throwing her bag on the floor (it thumped, probably from the monumental amount of books already in there) and glanced at both of them.

"All right." She said, after a second. "What's going on?"

"Huh?"

She gave him a reproachful stare. "Ron, I can tell from _both_ of your faces that something is going on already. What is it?"

Ron shrugged, picking up a salt shaker and spinning it atop the table. "Take a guess, Hermione. What has Harry already gotten obsessed with?"

Her expression cleared in recognition. "Oh. It's Malfoy, isn't it? With the invisibility-"

"Yeah, you got it," said Harry quietly. He glanced up at her. "I guess I owe you an apology too, right?

Hermione shrugged, pouring herself a cup of tea. "I don't know, I'm not bothered. Have either of you got your schedules yet?"

They both nodded, and Ron looked at Harry again.

Hermione looked at both of them, and sighed. "Christ, just make up already. We're not fourteen anymore, and it's probably not that serious anyway."

"He thinks Malfoy's a Death Eater."

Hermione paused.

Harry held up his hands in defence. "Look, I know it's an odd theory, but just hear me out. If Malfoy is a Death Eater, then he's in a perfect position to give away information about Hogwarts-"

Ron turned away, and stopped listening. Malfoy? A Death Eater? The poncy prat could hardly run away from a first year let alone a member of the Order. Not to mention he was sixteen. Unless they really were that desperate, Ron didn't think they'd let him join up yet.

Ron sighed. "Harry. I already asked you to drop it-"

"And I already said I would," he remarked. "But just in case, can't I just theorise to myself-"

"Fine," said Ron, standing up and slinging his bag over his back. "But I'm going to lessons. You're forgiven, by the way," he called behind him.

He wasn't angry with him. Just a bit... pissed off still; he knew that energy would fade away, though, given time.

And since Harry wasn't going to drop it, and Ron wasn't going to worry in what his opinion was needlessly, things had to be like that.

As he left the hall, he felt a piercing blue gaze follow him from the top table, and he knew exactly which teacher it was watching him. Ron still didn't turn around, and shouldered his bag tighter in place already anticipating finding a spot in the castle where the whispers that he could hear _every word of (_ every enunciation of a syllable, if he wanted to focus on it) couldn't bother him.

It ended up being on the seventh floor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Near the Room of Requirement, where the eerie blank wall stared at him in distaste. Like he wasn't supposed to be there.

But it was fine. Here, he couldn't hear a damn word of anything, other than a slight whistling from the breeze outside.

He pulled out a book and traced a hand across the cover. 'Advanced Transfiguration'. Sighing, Ron flipped it open, slightly miffed that this was what it had come to, that he was so bored _studying_ was the only option-

To the side, a shuffling. Ron tensed; the book hit the floor beside him.

"Oi! Who's there?"

His disgruntled shout brought out, to his surprise, a small girl - she couldn't have been more than a first year, Merlin - and he had just _s_ cared the living shit out of her, apparently. Because the next second, the jar in her hands clattered to the floor (the hell was it? It smelt awful) and she had run off before Ron could stammer out an apology.

"Reparo," he muttered, and the jar came back to its former obselete form.

"Spongify," and the weird... juice was cleared off the floor.

Couldn't have anyone slipping and falling on that. The resulting bloodshed on the shards and letting someone get hurt when he, a prefect, could've helped would have gotten him in trouble in more ways than one since evidently, people did actually use the seventh floor, despite there being almost nothing up here.

But he was alone now. So he took up his book again, and began to read.

Right?

* * *

The first few weeks went on by quickly without any incident, and Ron found himself settling in a little more. They all attended classes as usual, Hermione beginning a full study on vampires and Harry fussing about setting up the Quidditch team.

Ron thought he was overreacting.

"Look- no, really, look mate, I think they'd be a good addition on the team."

Harry shook his head. "Nope. No way I'm replacing Katie."

"I'm not saying that, but at least open the position for other people-"

"Ron, how fast would you say you are?" Hermione interrupted, looking up from her page.

"You what?" They both stared at Hermione in confusion.

She was entirely unperturbed. "How fast are you? Like how fast can you run?"

He frowned. "Uh. I don't know."

"So you are faster?" said Harry, tone weirdly eager. "Like you could wallop the ball really, really far?"

"Where is this going?"

Harry practically whooped for joy, and some students near the shelf opposite them shot them dirty looks. He ducked back down again.

"Is Madam Pince nearby?"

He listened out for her. "No."

Harry nodded. "Right. Good. But my point is, you're definitely being keeper again."

"Really?" Ron said, giving him a skeptical look. "You'd let a- someone like me on the team?"

Hermione replied, eyes not leaving the page she'd idly flipped onto from a book she'd started. "Well, there's no reason not to."

"Advanced speed? Strength?"

"It'll all help us win," said Harry, clapping him on the back. "But if you're on about people getting suspicious, just miss one very so often. Not too often, though, mind," he warned him with a beady gaze.

"Harry," Hermione told him sternly, and he looked sheepishly. "You wouldn't want to risk Ron's safety for a Quidditch match, would you?"

"Yes. Er- I mean no," said Harry quickly, but Ron shrugged. And then stopped.

"I really can't get hurt though, Harry."

Harry was shaking his head, "No, mate, I was just joking, I don't actually want that to-"

"I know, but if I got hurt it would heal... pretty quickly. I'd be given away. And then, people would demand I be kicked out of Hogwarts, probably, no matter how nice Dumbledore's been about it so far."

Harry nodded in understanding, and around them the bell tolled, signalling the beginning of afternoon lessons.

"Come on then," Harry nudged him as they were packing their books away. "We've got to get to potions."

* * *

All the different smells and sounds in the room interfered with his senses, and Ron found himself overwhelmed. He had never been particularly fond of potions, and the constant scraping, cutting and stirring he could hear now wasn't helping the fact. And his grades over the past few lessons reflected that poorly.

Not to mention Slughorn didn't know who he was. He'd been called Weedle, Westley, Robert - and most insultingly, Harry Potter's ginger friend.

He had been _right there_ , but that didn't matter to the doddery old professor.

Suddenly, his potion made a loud popping noise and turned a sandy consistency. Oh- well- at least it was the correct colour, Ron tried to console himself.

He didn't know why he cared so much. It wasn't like he would ever be an Auror anyway, with his condition.

Slughorn came over, and pulled a face. "Perhaps you'd better ask Mr Potter for help, Mr Weasley," he remarked, and Ron grimaced.

So, he looked at Harry's, and saw a perfect concoction; consummate texture, ideal scent, exemplary colour.

How _lovely._

"So Harry," he said as Slughorn slipped away, "got any tips for little old me?"

"Hm- what?" He blinked at him owlishly, completely in his own world. To no one's surprise the book sat in his hand

Ron grumbled, and turned to Hermione instead. Hers looked marginally better - a smooth dark magenta. "Hermione?" he offered, only slightly pleadingly.

She looked at his cauldron for all of a minute before announcing, "Try two sprigs of dandelions stalks. Maybe that'll sort out the smell?"

" _Thank you_ , Hermione," he said pointedly, looking over at Harry but he didn't even look up, mouth still forming the words on the page as he read silently.

Merlin's sake.

Ron gathered up his bowl, preparing to head to the storeroom to get some stalks. But someone else was holed up in there. Two people, actually.

"I'm telling you, Draco, I don't think this plan of yours is very good - someone will figure it out at some point, you have a lot of admirers-" she broke off as soon as entered the room, glaring daggers at him. "What?" she said sharply.

Ron took it in his stride, replying "Unless you count the six mirrors I'm sure he has charmed to hang in front of his bed, I'd say there are no admirers Parkinson - apart from your pathetic arse," Ron quipped, not-so-subtly giving Malfoy and Pansy a shove to get to the jar he needed. She hissed at him, and Malfoy rubbed his elbow with a sour look on his face.

"Watch it, you directionally-challenged weasel," he spat, but Ron could tell it was missing the usual bite. He peered at him, and watched Malfoy's frown deepen.

"Looking a bit sickly there, mate. Best give it a break from lurking in the dungeons or wherever you Slytherin Death Eater scum hang out and get some sunshine, all right?"

He pushed past him, giving him a final withering look of disgust before leaving; Pansy was fast on his heels. Ron chortled to himself, calling it a battle won.

But seriously, Malfoy had looked quite ill. And thinner, like he hadn't eaten in a while. When was the last time he'd seen him in the dinner hall? Ron didn't know. What was he doing that kept him inside all the time, what was making him that worried?

He'd have to ask Harry. He'd been the one watching him almost obssessively on the Marauder's Map, to the point it was getting weird.

Maybe... maybe there was something going on. Ron didn't want to even think about the idea, he just wanted a nice normal year to get through while going through the more long-term affects of vampirism. But, ignoring a problem didn't make it go away. He should know.

He still thought Harry's theory that Malfoy was a Death Eater was... unlikely. But it would be something to worry about for a weasel like Malfoy, since sooner or later they'd make him do something that didn't fit with his princely ways. Get his hands a bit dirty rather than depending on lackeys.

Was it likely, or not? It... somewhat fit, if you squinted.

Ron didn't know.

* * *

After lessons that day, he was called into McGonagall's office.

"Mr Weasley, do take a seat," she began crisply as soon as he got in the door. She stood there for little more than a second before sweeping off to her own seat behind the desk. "I hope you're well."

"Yeah. And erm, you too, professor."

She peered at him. "So, how are your lessons fairing?"

He squirmed under her gaze. "Fine."

"Really? A lot of the professors have told me you seem particularly distracted this week."

"Well, it's a bit hard to when you can-"

_"Brian! I told you not to look, I'm nearly ready-"_

He grimaced, and finished off his sentence. "When you can hear nearly everything in the castle. And the rest of... you know," he made a vague gesture but McGonagall seemed to get it. Vampirism, basically. It was a hell of a distraction.

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Right. Is there anything we can do to help?"

"No. It's fine, I can study later, when it's quieter. That's what I've been doing."

"Yes, I'm aware. Your homework turn-in rate is higher than ever before, Mr Weasley. All in all I think you can balance out your strengths and weaknesses to make something of your previous grade, perhaps higher. Many of them appear to be so already."

Ron knew that. Although it made him on odd footing with the rest of the school's human population, he was now able to hear and do things he shouldn't - often pretty extraordinary things.

He could have been imagining it, but spells seemed to come to him more easily. He could feel extra energy and power chugging around his veins, giving his banishing charms the ability to strip entire rooms. Flitwick had been quite impressed, but there was something else layered beneath his expression.

Suspicion. And he'd pulled him aside at the end of the lesson to tell him that while he found Ron's abilities quite amazing, he perhaps he shouldn't display his power like that. He'd give himself away.

It was a bit late for that, though. When he walked through corridors some of the looks he got off his classmates were different. Like they were seeing him in a different light.

Maybe it was what happened at the Ministry, last summer. There were a good deal of whispers about that.  
Ron just hoped it was a good one. It... seemed to be - everyone else just thought he'd studied.

But Flitwick wasn't the only teacher plaguing him about staying hidden. Snape had been absolutely adamant about it, hissing things to him at the end of a lesson one day and completely taking Ron by surprise.

That lesson he had quizzed the entire class on creatures, picking on Ron relentlessly and his lip curling further every time he answered a question correctly. (What? He had more time to study now.) By the end his classmates were impressed, but Snape looked mutinous.

"Why did you keep picking on me so much?" asked Ron, when it became apparent the immovable stare of Snape was waiting for him to go first.

"Believe it or not, Mr Weasley," he shot back almost immediately. "I'm doing this for your own good. The rest of the Order is treating you like a boundless child, but I know you're not. You are a brat," he spat, "afraid of their own capabilites, something dangerous considering the power you could wield. And eventually, going on the path you are now, pretending to be human still will only result in chaos. You'll snap, one day.

"I suggest you leave now, while you're still in the right mind. Go and exist with your own kind, where our mortality won't mock you and drive you mad." he sneered. "Go to people who understand, I don't care what sort they are, and neither should you. You're the immortal one, your brain is wired differently to ours. Your perception of life is entirely warped. Good and bad are dwarfed by eternal life. _Leave_ , before you hurt more people than you already have."

Snape did just that after he finished his piece: he swept his cloak around him tightly, and swept off to another corner of the classroom.

Ron just stood there, trying to calm his panic but ultimately failing, because _what the hell_? Had Snape given him advice, or was he telling Ron to fuck off?

Regardless of whichever it was, Snape hated Ron being at Hogwarts. He hated the sight of him, every time he set foot in a room, and wanted him gone. There was no doubt about that. The professor knew what Ron was, clearly, and of course he'd known as a part of the Order.

All of the members of the Order had been weird about it, actually. It made things awkward between them; Ron much preferred being around his friends.

They knew Ron had changed, and they continued on like nothing had happened - right until that change mattered. He liked it that way.

McGonagall nodded, and Ron was brought back to the office. "Right... well, I'll be sending a letter home to your mother so your family will be notified by your progress, and your probationary term is over. Congratulations, Mr Weasley, you are now officially part of the school body again."

"Er, nice. Thanks," he replied, unsure of what else to say.

"And how have you been handling the bloodlust, just out of interest?"

"Fine." He swallowed on reflex, something he did every time that was brought up, just to check. Just to be sure he wasn't thirsty, and he wasn't going to spiral into a desperate, harried blur of hunger and madness.

And knew only too well how it could dissolve into madness so quickly, devolve into instinctual insanity. Things were fine though; the string was only just beginning to pull taught around the base of his neck.

McGonagall peered at him through a piercing stare. "I take it the weekly visits to Madam Pomfrey have been successful so far?"

"Um, yeah. I have one later, actually."

The deputy headmistress nodded. "I won't make you late for that, then. And I see you're on the Gryffindor Quidditch team?"

"...Yeah. Is that all right?"

"I shouldn't see why not," she said, lips still pursed. "Professors attend every game, and equally as keeper you're rather far removed from the rest of the game, and the other students. I must admit..." she glanced at him, "I am wary of mixing adrenaline and your nature."

"Er... what about the unfair advantages?" he asked, unsure.

She didn't hesitate for long. "Since you have to deal with the _dis_ advantages of your condition, I think that perhaps... you may as well get to enjoy the advantages."

"Right. Isn't it still technically cheating, though?"

She sighed. "Mr Weasley, do you want to win the cup or not? Because you're the best keeper we have, human or not."

Hesitantly, Ron nodded. "I suppose.

"Well. I think that's it," said McGonagall, casting him one last long look. "Is there anything else you'd like to ask?"

He thought of the sleepless nights spent wandering the castle and breaking into the library, invisible against the darkness and stepping right past Mrs Norris and Filch. He could be silent if he wanted to, go entirely unnoticed with only the nothingness, and void of the night, to guide him.

It was peaceful. And in a world where all he could hear was constant, overbearing noise, it was pretty nice.

He could finally see why most of his species elected to stay up at night rather than the day. And hey, it was good McGonagall was fully supportive of the Quidditch thing; Harry had a similar attitude, too.

Quidditch tryouts had gone well on the pleasant Saturday morning they'd occurred, everyone stood out on the pitch and in front of them thirty odd other students milling about with all different skill levels; Ron saw one person trip over their broomstick while it was still on the ground and others swaggering about with their brooms confidently.

Harry nodded at him; they were stood side by side, along with Katie Bell and Ginny Weasley. As previous members of the team, they had banded together to sort through the newbies.

"But remember, Harry, if anyone's better than us you have to let them replace us-" Katie reminded him, and Harry waved her off.

"I think there's little chance of that," he remarked as a few Hufflepuff first years tottered out of the changing rooms. Ron frowned. "What are they even doing here?"

"I don't know."

Ginny winced at the early morning sunlight. "Merlin, Harry, don't you think it's a bit early for this?"

"Probably. But getting up early for this shows... dedication, or something."

"Yeah, but it's too _early_."

Katie shrugged. "Okay, should we start?"

Harry nodded, but didn't do anything. "Er, and how do I do that?" he looked back at them all.

"Yell at them," said Ginny. "Like this - ANYONE NOT IN GRYFFINDOR NEEDS TO LEAVE, RIGHT NOW. I'M LOOKING AT YOU, VANE!"

Romilda Vane, a Ravenclaw with long black curls and an aggressive crush on Harry giggled and winked at the captain, before leaving with her friends. Ginny grimaced, and Harry looked a bit dazed. She wasn't the only girl to have her eyes on him this year. And Harry, who was finally wising up a bit about dating, was very confused.

Ron snorted. He thought it was bloody hilarious.

"Thanks, Ginny," Harry said to her, and she nodded proudly. He turned back to face the crowd, swallowing. "Okay, everyone!" Luckily, their attention was now fully on Harry, Ginny's shout having awakened them somewhat. "Two laps around the pitch. Now." He turned to face the rest of them again, practically breathless. "How was that?"

The trials had been pretty good, overall. Ron was glad to be back on a broom finally, and able to play. He was faster, and he was stronger... so it wasn't all the same as it was, but it was close enough. He still loved the rush of cold air that came with flying.

Hermione was sat out on the stands, books set out in front of her and watching them pick through the procession of players begging to be on the team. They siphoned it down to, in what Ron's opinion was a pretty decent team, everyone from last year returning with some good new players, too.

Ron hadn't had any competition as keeper, perhaps other than Cormac McLaggen, a smarmy seventh year who kept going on very loudly about how excellent a keeper he was. Ron certainly wasted no time harbouring an immense dislike for him, especially after seeing how weird he was to Hermione. He kept _winking_ at her and stuff, smiling and... being weird, like Ron said. He kept doing all that stuff, even though Hermione didn't look receptive of it in the slightest.

He couldn't really explain it, but the guy just gave him a really bad feeling. He told Harry and Hermione afterwards, and they'd both nodded.

"No one else seemed particularly fond of him," said Harry. "And I'm not either - he got quite stroppy when he missed that goal."

They were talking about the shot he had missed, darting to the side for seemingly no reason and the quaffle just zoomed past him and went in. Hermione went a flushed, pink colour.

"Y-yes, that one was bad," she said. Ron nodded.

"What do you think of him?" he asked her, peering at her, and she blanched.

"...Rude, I think," she told them. "He dropped an awful lot of hints about going to Slughorn's party together when I talked to him after the practice."

"Eh?" Ron looked at her in puzzlement.

Hermione nodded, and gave a small smile. "Slughorn. He's having some Christmas do - he invited me back on the train."

"I think I'm going, too," said Harry. "We're allowed to bring a partner. Dunno who I'm picking, though." His eyes were strangely a bit glazed over as he stared into the distance, near by where Ginny was sat with Dean ( _gross_ ; Ron wanted to tear the kid away from his sister and glue him to the clock tower, but the last time he tried to bring up a fuss Ginny told him to stop being such a twat), and Ron sighed slightly.

"I don't think I'm getting an invite anytime soon. Have you seen me in potions lessons?"

They both nodded hesitantly; they had, and honestly, they both wished they hadn't.

"I'm pretty happy with the team, though," said Ron, and they both agreed.

That was a few weeks ago, and one of the highlights of the term in Ron's opinion. They'd had a few matches and training sessions since then, and everything had gone well - a few people even singing 'Weasley is our king', and not unkindly. He was... pretty good. Faster, sharper. People had been complimenting him on it, telling him the extra practice hadn't gone unnoticed.

Vampirism had its drawbacks and positives, as McGonagall said; and for the life he was trying to lead Ron had more of the former, so he may as well enjoy the good things.

Lavender Brown had given him a lot of the compliments. It was odd. Ron thought maybe she liked him, but he couldn't be sure.

Probably. Even Harry had mentioned it, and he was the king of being oblivious to his effect on girls, so Ron thought it was a pretty clear indicator.

But now, he had to get to Madam Pomfrey.

"Thank you, Mr Weasley. I believe you have an appointment to get to," she said, inclining her head at him, tip of her svelte hat nodding in his direction. Ron stood up, and left the office, arriving in front of the infirmary before he knew it.

He opened the door quietly, trying to temper his nerves with the bait that he'd done this many times before and each time it had been successful (it didn't work). Inside, he saw he wasn't the only one there: on a bed nearby lay Neville, one hand bandaged thickly.

He grimaced weakly. "All right, Ron. Nasty spell broke my hand. The bones won't stop shattering long enough to fix them, so... just have to do this for- ow!"

Madam Pomfrey tisked at him. "You shouldn't have been so clumsy with your spellwork, Mr Longbottom."

Ron paced further into the infirmary, asking "Neville, what happened?" as he did so.

"I... er, it was the end of the lesson, and I just put my wand down. Next thing I knew sparks were flying out of the thing, I go to pick it up and it just smashes me right in the arm. Really hur- OW!"

Ron guessed it was quite painful. He could sympathise - he'd had that same spell shot at him multiple times, but he had vampire healing to dispose of it fairly quickly. As good as the healing was, however, it couldn't fix everything.

Ron hoped he never had to meet 'everything'.

Neville nodded at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Uh," Ron blanked. "I just have to... take something. Got ill over the holidays, and I'm still taking some stuff for it."

"Oh. What was it?" The other boy pulled a face in sympathy.

Oh dear. Ron didn't think Neville would keep asking questions. It wasn't like there were many diseases that couldn't be cured quite quickly-"

"Spattergroit," he said, completely panicking. "But it wasn't that bad, so... it only took like, a month or two to run through my system."

Neville frowned at him, and Madam Pomfrey continued mixing potions on the counter nearby.

"You don't look pustulous."

"Er, my freckles hide most of it."

Neville's expression was still confused, but he began to nod, and Ron felt some of the panic ebbing away. "I can see that," he said. "You do still look a bit ill, if you don't mind my saying."

Thanks very much, Neville.

Ron gritted his teeth, like it had been a long road to recovery. "Yeah. Hopefully it all clears up soon."

"Just out of interest - it's not contagious, is it?"

"Oh, er, no. Not anymore."

Spattergroit was famously, quite hideously contagious, so hopefully Neville didn't know too much about it. Ron didn't think he did, but there was always a chance. There was also the chance Neville caught him out on that lie and then the lie that he was human, so, if they went down that road things wouldn't turn out well.

Neville was nice, though. Maybe he wouldn't hate the fact Ron was a vampire, maybe he'd take it well (or at least eventually well, like Harry had done; they'd forgotten all about their previous little... squabble).

But Madam Pomfrey was handing him a potion now. "There you go, Mr Longbottom. Take that and off you pop - I have another patient."

He did so obediently, after a final goodbye to Ron.

He felt bad for lying, especially to someone so sincere. But he swallowed down the guilt (where it nestled amongst the rest of the shame, still locked away in the base of his stomach) and allowed the thirst to take over. Unblock his nose and let the stench of blood flood in.

He could tell exactly where it was, which cupboard; it was difficult to keep up the glamour when the blood lust was so strong. He didn't bother speaking when he knew his throat would just clasp around empty air, and wheeze. He wanted the blood.

Ron swore everything increased after each week that passed, as each time he came to feed again the need was stronger. He was stronger. Thus why it was so probable that older vampires would be stronger than younger ones.

Glancing up at Madam Pomfrey, he nodded, and she cast a spell that would lock the infirmary doors tightly and reached into a nearby cupboard ( _the_ cupboard, the one that held exactly what he needed _)_ and handed him two bottles of blood.

He downed them quickly, noting in the back of his mind she turned away as he did so, but too far submerged in that salty sweet taste to care, and handed the empty bottles back over in a matter of minutes.

It used to be just the one, but that hadn't been enough to get him through the week. And they were rather... large bottles, too. But Mordecai had warned Ron about this, and so far it looked like he was right.

His thirst was increasing as time went on - but only slowly, in small increments. Hopefully it hit a plateau soon and didn't move anymore... but perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

She turned back around, the expression marring her face stern as ever. At least that hadn't changed.

Ron didn't need blood based on how much he lost. He needed it for the curse, to feed its life force, and therefore him alive. Without it the curse would turn his mind rabid, and then he would just die with one final push, if he couldn't find anything else to eat.

The more magic he used, the more strength he used, the faster his body would need more blood. The longer he lived and had the curse for, the more blood he would need. It was a slow process, one that jumped ahead and then plateaued for a long time.

Mordecai had told him all this while testing his healing powers to the boundaries.

"It's lucky you've only just been bitten, or you'd need more power to heal yourself," he remarked, pacing about the darkened forest clearing. "It gets slower, see. Never quite to human standards, but a wound healed in minutes could take a quarter of an hour, if you were running on empty. Perhaps half an hour. That's why vampires can die if they're chopped up into itty bitty bits and they haven't fed in a week - the curse doesn't have the energy to heal them."

The curse is what keeps both of us alive, and fresh," he finished with a smirk. "No way to get rid of it, but it's allergic to sun and a couple'o runes. No way to reverse it... all you can do is appreciate it."

Twisted bastard, Ron always thought.

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," he said, eyes on the sunbeams slashed across the infirmary floor from the large windows and she hardly nodded, already busy with something else.

He left that night with a settled feeling in his stomach, like a beast in there had been soothed.

Ron supposed that was true, if the beast was the curse. It was monstrous enough, after all.

* * *

The old portkey station had dusty, scraped insides, old chairs balancing on rickety tables and smashed glass on the floor from equally broken windows. It twinkled in the weak sunlight, like a mirror shredded. Mordecai hardly spared it a glance, seen as he wasn't going to bother cleaning it up.

His footprints made gaping holes in the dust, thick upon the wood mottled with time, and he made it to the door on the other side. The back door.

It was wedged tightly into its frame, but he put more of his weight onto it and the door clunkily snapped open, wood creaking into the early morning. Mordecai stopped for just a second to listen out for any eavesdroppers, and the frequency came back clear.

He went to the side of the building, passing crumbling, painted stone, and found the entrance.

The lid came off surprisingly easily, the doors swinging past his face and cold air being released from within. Mordecai could already see the water-damaged walls tight and unwielding, multiplying the darkness into infinity... but still it was promise of something more. Of a chance at clear passage through the humped cave.

He pushed his sleeves up, and flexed his slim wrists printed with the shadows of dirt and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is probably the most confusing chapter name, but I just didn't want to change it.
> 
> All will hopefully make sense in the end. Thanks for reading, and stuff.
> 
> -Tea33 :)


	20. Fight or Flight

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Twenty: Fight or Flight

Harry was stood on the corner of the corridor, bent over surreptiously to check something in his bag. Ron nudged Hermione.

"It's either the book, or the map," he said.

She nodded, gaze reproachful. "It's getting a bit out of hand, don't you think?"

"A tad bit," replied Ron; his mouth pressed into a grimace, and he saw Hermione frowning too; together they marched over to their best friend, who immediately dropped what he was holding at the sound of footsteps and snapped his bag shut, acting innocent.

Hermione placed her hands on her hips, and Ron ignored how much made her look a bit like his mother. "Harry," she faced him with a serious look. "What is it you just had?"

He fidgeted with the strap running across his shoulder, and mumbled, "Nothing." Harry scowled at their disbelieving gazes. "I swear it was nothing! Honest," he placed a hand across his heart, but Ron could hear it beating faster than it should have.

He snorted.

Harry grumbled, already seeing he was having no luck. "I hate that I can't lie to you anymore," he shot at Ron accusingly, and the other boy just smiled and folded his arms smugly.

"Suck it up, Harold. Now, what was it?"

"What was what?"

Hermione tossed her head of curls as she shook her head and gave him a look. "Don't play dumb with us, Harry," she said brusquely, "which were you looking at? The map, or the prince's book?"

He paused. "...the book."

Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder. "Harry," she told him sternly, and he wouldn't meet his eyes with hers. "You _need_ to stop using that book. It's unfair, and dangerous-"

"How is it unfair? If you lot want the recipes I'm happy to share."

"No thank you," Hermione said plainly. "I want to follow the authorised ones. You know, the ones that _couldn't_ be poisoned. You have no idea what those recipes could be of."

"But they haven't so far."

"They still could."

"Look," he turned to face both of them, weaselling out of Hermione's grip. "I get what you're both saying. But this prince guy... I _trust_ him. Out of the loads of recipes I've followed and the few spells I've tried out, not one of them has turned out to be a bootleg killing curse! The half-blood prince is not a Death Eater!"

"But Malfoy is?"

Harry winced. "Yeah... I think that's more likely... but that's not the point. My point is, could you both just drop this please? I don't mention it around you anymore, I'm keeping it to myself, so I don't see what the problem is. Can we just go to next lesson already?"

Ron nodded. "...You get up early in the morning to study. It's like having _two_ Hermiones," he said with a wince, and Harry shot him a look.  
"Thought you were on my side."

Ron held up his hands at both Hermione and Harry. "I don't pick sides. But maybe you should put the book down every so often. It could actually be dodgy, y'know?"  
Harry conceded a slight nod.

"I'm not bothered though." Ron went on. "Just save some cheats for me, yeah?"

"I don't know why you're acting like having two of me would be a bad thing, though," replied Hermione airily, her arms folded as they began to move down the corridor again. Lessons would begin soon.

Ron smirked again, and watched as Hermione tugged her bag up higher on her shoulder, and started to talk animatedly with Harry about S.P.E.W.

* * *

Defence Against the Dark Arts was their first lesson. And Ron was quite sure Snape not only knew he was a vampire (just judging by the scathing looks thrown his way), but wanted him gone. Gone from the planet or just Hogwarts, Ron didn't know.

Lovely.

"This lesson, students," Snape began, surveying the classroom benignly, "we will be doing a segment on mutated spells since the half-wits who decided they would not be in the curriculum have finally fixed their mistake. What," he paused, "do you know about them?"

Then, he looked at Ron. Straight at him, like he was trying to skewer the hell out of Ron's pupils. Legilimency? It could be, Ron had no idea; but in that moment, he was somewhat glad Mordecai taught him to protect his mind... however barbarically.

As expected Hermione rose her hand, and again, as expected, Snape pointedly ignored her. "Can't anyone tell me the answer? What about you, _Mr Weasley_ ," and he said Ron's name with such distaste even the Ravenclaw beside him looked a bit wounded.

His eyebrow peaked violently. "Well?"

Although he was flustered, Ron tried his best to answer. "Erm, mutated spells are... spells, that have been altered by other spells. Or- or other bits of magic. One example would be protego maxima - the mutator being in this case the maxima. It, um, makes it more powerful. Increases it."

Snape huffed. "Although you explained it with all the intelligence of a flayed frog, that answer was correct, Weasley." He grimaced. "And can anyone give me an example in which these spells have cause issues for the Ministry and wider public? Perhaps... recently?"

Surprisingly Neville was the one who stuck his hand up, and Snape inclined his head at him.

"The spell that destroyed the bookshop, s-sir. In Diagon Alley."

The room stilled, and felt just that bit more silent after his words. Ron took a moment to glance around him, and saw many tightened expressions.

Death Eaters. Everyone knew they were growing in power again now Voldemort was back, but it hurt having it splashed all across the news how much the Ministry were failing at holding them back. How much they had already failed.

"Correct. Mutated spells are exceedingly dangerous - especially the rarer types. _Not_ including protego maxima, Weasley. Say, for instance, an altered blast charm. It would need a particularly strong caster, and if gotten wrong can be perilous. For instance, it blasting backwards and into the face of the caster issomething that can occur, lest why even experienced wizards and witches stay away from it."

"Can you do it, sir?" asked the Ravenclaw sat next to Ron, and Snape glared at him for a second.

"I have attempted to several times, and succeeded only two of those occasions. You don't want to know what happened the times it failed," said Snape flatly. "I find that singular spells are far less likely to go wrong, and can be just as effective."

A Slytherin Ron only vaguely knew the name of raised her hand, and Snape picked on her.

"How can you protect against those spells, sir?"

"Good question, Davis. And my answer would be to duck with the hope they don't have very good aim, or hope your protego - maxima only, a usual one wouldn't stand a chance - can withold whichever mutation is thrown at you."

Oh, and I think that, perhaps, it is worth mentioning that the combinations of mutated spells are endless - and common. Protego maxima, using Weasley's example, is a common and easy example. Many spells contain fragments of others, no matter how distant. But it is the combination of two powerful, differing enhancements that make mutated spells so very dangerous. Runes can stop them, as can the protego maxima, or some other form of barrier. But only if they are strong enough."

Snape scowled at them all, swooping his cloak over his shoulder as he said, "Now then... I want a foot's essay by the end of the lesson."

Ron sighed, and dug out his quill and textbook, preparing to sink in the mountain of monotonous work, but something caught in the back of his mind... his thoughts wandered out to it, dislodged it.

Who had planned the attack on Diagon Alley?

* * *

Well... It had gone something like this.

* * *

Move as a group. They had to move as a group, a single unit. At least they were supposed to.

Mordecai didn't do group missions, he preferred to work alone. In his long lifetime he had only had a few successful ones, and those had been excelled. They'd been an unstoppable force. An encroaching, unstoppable darkness to the Muggles they were targeting.

The team had been good, a one-minded machine that rolled smoothly through the process. And these idiots... the ones hardly able to to tell which way round their wand went Mordecai had been paired with couldn't hold a candle.

So he had to take some kind of charge.

He didn't know who was leading them, since he wasn't part of their conversation, so he assumed the position the second someone showed a little hesitance by jumping in.

"-Where from? If we go closer, or- or longer, it um-"

"Longer," Mordecai clipped out, and they all turned to face him. He couldn't blame them. It was probably surprising - he'd been silent so far. "We should mutate it with a tracking spell so it reaches its target in the recipient's neck."

"Mutate them?" said one of the numerous people he was with. Low-ranking Death Eaters, from the looks of things. They didn't have masks, but all wore matching black cloaks with deepened hoods. He hadn't been particularly happy about being sent out on this mission, but Rodolphus had managed to persuade him. He figured why not, it wasn't like he had much else to do. "'Ow d'you do that?"

Mordecai rolled his eyes. "I can't be here all day attempting to get it through your thick skull-"

He growled at that, and Mordecai couldn't hold back a peal of laughter that made them all look back in alarm.

"Did you just growl at me? Do you know what I am, you _dunce_ -"

"Come on, er, you, I'm sure he was just being... friendly," said another, one's name Mordecai couldn't remember.

He looked him up and down sharply. "Who are you?"

They suddenly had nervous expression on their face. "Robin."

"Right."

_Robin. Sounded almost like Robert._

He gritted his teeth, face pushing closer to Robin's, and giving him a harsh glare.

" _Shut up, if you know what's good for you,_ " he hissed, gaze subthermal, turning Robin's irises to ice. Wide, diluted, watery ice; he was terrified, Mordecai could smell it on him. And smell he did, drawing in a deep breath and hearing the hammering pulse so close by him.

"I am quite hungry, you know," he merely remarked, and before Robin could squirm away, he drew away instead, snarling in disgust as he did.

He glared at the rest of the group, all staring slack-jawed at the exchange ahead. "Well, come on then!" Mordecai shouted. "The shop is over there, let's fucking fire the spell already and be done with it!"

He stalked off, long coat flowing out behind him. This was why he hated working in groups with idiots, bloody annoying-

He didn't bother to turn back to check if they were caught up. He walked on ahead to reach the shop. Not the target shop - the shop that, being in the perfect place (not too far from the target and not too close either) had been chosen to fire the spell from.

A bookstore nearby was owned by two men who, unfortunately, owed the Death Eaters rather a large sum of money.

They had taken too long to pay up, and now they were going to pay for their lives. That was what they were here to do today; it would be quick, and clean. A double slicing spell to cut the throats of the men, and they would be gone again.

It was close - close enough that Mordecai could hear conversations of the shoppers nearby. Someone was talking about ever-lasting quills, another about some birthday, and a third-

The third, he recognised. Mordecai paused, listening in to... the kid, the one he had turned, Ronald Weasley, talking about listening into another conversation, just while he waited for the others on the case to catch up.

"- _I'm trying to listen!"_

Just what they were trying to listen to, Mordecai was interested to know. They were crouched behind a brick wall, and oh... this was _good_.

Up ahead he could make out the Malfoy heir in a shop, asking about the vanishing cabinet. (Mordecai had been invited to that particular meeting, so he knew what it was about: the Death Eaters were planning on creating a passage in and out of Hogwarts using vanishing cabinets. One was working in Borgin and Burke's, the other was broken in Hogwarts. Somewhere Mordecai didn't know. But the plan was to get the one at Hogwarts working, and then the Death Eaters could enter the castle.)

He frowned, mind connecting the dots swiftly.

Malfoy was talking about some serious business.

Ron and two other people were listening in on said business, something they should definitely not have been doing.

Mordecai had to stop this. Now.

He formed a plan in his mind... sure, there would be casualties, and it would make a bigger splash than intended, but this was important. The inner circle would value their main plans being kept silent more than this smaller one being... altered.

And Mordecai felt odd, today. Things were too much, and then they were too little. He needed a release of energy, something to speed up the magic flowing through his veins and break up the tiring monotony.

If the higher-ups weren't a fan of what he'd done, Mordecai would run. He could, and he'd probably end up doing it anyway. In the end.

"Change of plan," he said, and the group stuttered to a stop. He turned to face them all. "We're not slicing the throats anymore, we're not just killing them... we're blowing up the shop."

"What? W-why?" asked a mousy woman.

"Because, there are eavesdroppers lurking about... we have to protect something. Some information. We have to cut off the connection, and an explosion will do just that."

"Shou-shouldn't we be discreet?"

He shot her a skeptical look. "They'll know we were here anyway, won't they?"

"Protection spells?" piped up another Death Eater, and Mordecai rolled his eyes.

"I took them down earlier - it's why I was late. What do you think I am, an amateur?"

They took a step back in resignation.

"He can't hear _us_ , can he?" another asked worriedly, and Mordecai shook his head.

"No. He's not experienced enough yet. Now," and spread his arms out wide, at other three that had come along - God knows why they needed so many - "stand back."

They did, unable to underestimate him, and Mordecai lifted up both of his arms, twitching his fingers before beginning the motions of a spell, twisting his fingers intricately before releasing his palms, letting bright purple energy burst forth from them, letting the words "Magnum diffindium!" rip harshly from his throat.

The spell, a ball of coalesced energy and light smashed into the intented building, the target - brick and stone flew everywhere after a harsh, cracking noise, throwing up clouds of dirt and glimmering glass and in the same blow took out Ron's line of hearing.

Mordecai smiled, and felt it sharpen his eyes to something dangeruous.

A job well done, then.

* * *

Ron pondered his query for another few minutes before he gave up.

Probably just the Death Eaters, doing what they always did, right?

* * *

"Haven't you noticed he's quieter this term?"  
Lavender looked up from her books, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't really know," she rushed out, cheeks flushing faintly. "I-I don't look at him that often."

Paravti smirked, raising a darkened brow. "Sure, Lavender. You haven't been watching Ron, just looking over constantly and talking about how good his outfit looks on him _every single day_ -"  
She shoved a book at her friend's chest. "Oh shut it, Pati, you don't understand-"

"No, I don't." she said, before frowning slightly. "But isn't he quieter? Ron, I mean? I think that whole speech he gave in Defence was the most I'd heard him speak this term."  
"Is it really?" Lavender looked surprised. "Well. Maybe he is quieter."

"He was really loud before, though. Always mucking about with Neville and Dean and Seamus."

"He still talks to that Granger girl, though," she murmured pointedly.

Parvati rolled her eyes. "There's nothing going on between them, Lav, I've told you. All I'm saying is, Ron's different. Now, d'you have the time, 'cause I'd really like to get to lunch-"

Hermione's quill paused in moving across the page of her homework, glancing up to see the girls leaving the library.

Well, that wasn't good.

They were supposed to be being careful about Ron hiding his vampirism, and people noticing he was 'different' was not good at all.

Hermione shut her book with a thud, and stowed it away in her bag. She should go and tell someone about this.

The subject of their gossip, perhaps.

* * *

"Ron."

He looked up from where he'd been skulking around the library, fingers running down the spines of various books and expression vacant. It always looked a bit like that: shallower than before. Sunken, Hermione thought with a slight frown. But she gave a grin that matched his when he saw her, the expression putting more colour into his eyes. Sky blue; she knew it was all lies, but they were pretty all the same. "Yeah, 'Mione?"

She smiled too, moving closer. "I just wanted to let you know, that erm..." the smile dropped. "I overheard Parvati and Lavender talking. They- they think you're different, this term."

It was a beat before he answered. "I suppose I am, though, aren't I?" Ron turned back around glumly, and continued picking out books seemingly at random, ring glinting in the faint sunlight splashing through a nearby window. Without it, he'd burn, Hermione reminded herself.

It had been odd to think of him that way at first, as the fanged diagrams in her DADA books, but she was getting used to it more each day that passed. Maybe better than Harry, she sometimes thought by the way he looked confused for a second at every mention Ron made of his new state.

But then Harry's expression would clear, and things would be fine again. It was great by Hermione: she wanted things to be as they always had... with some changes.

Hermione exhaled softly, stepping forward to place a hand on his arm. He jumped, almost like he hadn't been expecting it.

"I just mean, be careful," she told him sincerely. "We don't want anyone getting suspicious."

"We don't, no," Ron muttered, and she saw his bright blue irises flicking back and forth over her face. Hermione felt a flutter in her stomach, and she swallowed.

It had been there for a while. And it was still, evidently, despite everything else going on. Despite the fact he was a vampire, and that Hermione was behaving exactly like the heroine of a romance novel.

Well, not quite. She was wary, very wary still, and had _no idea_ why she still felt this way.

Maybe it was because he looked so normal still. Like he always did, with freckles and tousled hair and sky-blue eyes.

"Because then you'd be expelled," she gave a grim expression, and he flashed her a blunt one.  
"Honestly, 'Mione, I think it's only a matter of time for that." He glanced around him. "But while we have time... you want to go to the Room of Requirement? I think Harry's in one of Snape's detentions, so he won't be around for a while, and I have some homework to take on. Could throw in some butterbeer. You in?"

She couldn't help the grin that spread widely across her face, lit up her features. "Sounds great to me, Ron."

But when they reached the room, it wouldn't open.

"Are you sure you did it right?" Ron asked, scanning the blank wall in worry. "I'm not doubting you, just... I don't know what else it could be."

Hermione frowned too, murmuring, "I know. Maybe someone else is already in there?"

"Probably, but who else knows about it? I swear if we go in there and find Seamus and-"

Behind them, there was a shriek, and shattering sound. For the second time, Ron realised, he saw a glass jar with ominous liquid inside fall to the floor, almost in slow motion, the contents splattering all up the wall and glass shards flying everywhere. Again, he saw a small girl with pigtails run around the corner, mousy brown hair the only defining feature of her.

Hermione gasped at the commotion, before tutting and reparing the glass back together, contents included. Ron'd have to ask her how to do that.

"Wait! Come back! I have your..." Hermione watched the girl run off into the distance, long gone. "Poor girl," she said. Must've seen us and been _terrified._ "

"But really, what's so scary about us?" joked Ron, until he stopped abruptly. "Hermione, you don't think- you don't think-"

"That she knows?" Hermione raised a quizzical brow. "No, I don't think so. She can't do."

"But it's funny, though," said Ron, scratching his chin in puzzlement. "I've seen her before; she did the exact same thing; screamed, dropped the jar, and ran."  
"Coincidence?" Hermione offered, and Ron made a noncomittal noise.

"Maybe."

"She's just a first year... she can't mean any harm. I'm not sure what she was doing around the seventh floor, though."

"Me neither."

Ron frowned at the solid wall between him and a cosy, firelit room he and Hermione could study in. "And I don't understand why the room's not working." They tried a few more times, just to make sure, but still nothing happened. If anything, the room looked more unresponsive.  
"Maybe it's having an off day," said Hermione. "Let's just go to the Gryffindor common room instead."

"Maybe someone's in there," he said. "And the common room's only an option if we can get a damn seat," remarked Ron. "It's always packed, especially this time of year," he nodded at the darkened sky outside, traces of sunlight quickly vanishing.

She smiled. "Could always clear it out with a few dungbombs. Normally I don't approve, but if there're no seats..."

Ron looked at her in surprise. "Since when did you have dungbombs?"  
"Since I confiscated them off a third year this morning," she replied easily, feeling freer than usual. "Now let's go."

* * *

They'd had a good afternoon together. And now, quite a while later Ron was incredibly bored sat in a double potions lesson, the dreary afternoon dragging on dismally; he wanted this day's lessons to end, so they could get cracking with tonight's Quidditch practice.

Tonight Ron would be running a few drills, as per Harry's enthusiastic approval. He was excited, he couldn't lie, having studied the Chudley Cannons' training rituals for years.

He'd been staring into space, half listening in to Harry and Neville's conversation.

"...I just didn't want to this year, you know..." Neville nodded, and Harry went on." It was good, the DA, but I thought since we have a proper teacher now, if you can call Snape that and our cover was blown before I'd leave it-"

Ron stopped. He heard it before them, before anyone else. Before Neville, despite the fact it was he who was standing over his cauldron, the salamander blood dripping from his fingers into the cauldron and upsetting the highly volatile potion brewing inside.

Ron's eyes widened. He could feel himself freezing, a buzzing filling his ears as he saw the exact moment the smoke began to rise, a warning of the explosion to come, the mixture bubbling and rising and overflowing until it-

"Everyone get down!" Ron shouted, tone ragged with desperation, Neville's mouth falling agape as he was helpless to the commotion threatening to erupt from his cauldron and the lacklustre attention given to it. Harry swallowed, dipped into his robes to retrieve his wand, an attempt to clamp down on the situation-

But it was too late. Ron knew that, he could feel it in every cell of his being, but none of them could. The innocent people stood in the classroom were oblivious, the ones who could be swept over by the resounding explosion as easily as the wind did the leaves outside.

So he had to stop it. He had to get out of his own head, and _do_ something, before it was too late.

What could he do? Banish it?

He didn't know if he could, if he could beat the explosion-

Shield it?

He could try. But who knows how long it would hold for?

He could - and it sounded stupid, so stupid - he could try and fight fire with fire. Throw the most explosive spell he knew at the potion, and see if it cancelled it out. Inside a shield of course, in case things went wrong.

He wouldn't need to protect himself. He was bulletproof, made of something stronger than the people around him.

Ron felt the heavy weight of guilt shift in his gut; if he could do this, perhaps that shame wouldn't bear down on him so terribly.

This potion was dangerous stuff. They were in sixth year, and the more... lethal, vicious susbstances came into the curriculum then.

Ron didn't know what Neville had been brewing, but it looked bad. It looked lethal, and vicious.

He raised his arms up in preparation, and gritted his teeth; he threw his hands down quickly, like he had in the forest more times than he could count, and an invisible shield came up between the cauldron and the crowd. Not Ron though - he was trapped right in the bubble with it.

He felt fire erupt from his fingertips and let it spin and dance into something visceral, visible, sketching a blinding reflection from the ring glowing on his finger. It shone under the fire, and Ron saw the metal refract a thousand times back into his eye.

The energy, the great ball of fire and flames was released, and made impact with the potion now half spirited out of the cauldron and was singed and swallowed, engulfed entirely by the fire and promptly fell back into the cauldon as an immobile pile of ash.

Ron sagged, the shield coming down around him and the energy quickly draining from him. He felt a loud pulsing behind his eyes, but it was all right - he-he just needed a moment and he'd be fine, he'd be fine like always-

"Ron?"

He just needed a _second_ , just a second to recollect himself. He felt a bit woozy, but his strength was quickly returning to him. The spells had taken quite a bit out of him - and Ron nearly fell to the floor again when he remembered he'd have to keep going all night, _again_ , until every inch of him had bled and healed by Mordecai's hand until he couldn't feel it anymore-

"I'm- I'm fine, I can go again-" his tongue felt a bit too heavy. "It's- I'm, erm, completely fine-"

"You are most certainly not, my boy... don't you rather think you should sit down?"  
He blinked and blinked and blinked again, just to be sure. Why was he in the classroom, Horace Slughorn stood in front of him in complete bafflement, staring at him and a hand reaching for his shoulder.

His chest was still heaving, giving the impression of breathing but really, Ron was just trying to process, catch up. Time was going normally again (when had it slowed down?) And he could now make out the rest of the class peering at him in and the mild scorch marks on Neville's cauldron, the countertop, and Ron's hands in surprise.

They burned. But he hid them behind his back, wary of the fast healing.

Was his glamour in place? Thank hell it was. He pushed away from the counter he was leaning heavily againt, and the fringe from his eyes. He glanced round at the class.

"Is everyone all right?" he asked quietly, hands still shaking behind his back.

_Were they onto him now? Would he be kicked out, for breaking the rules? He'd just been trying to help-_

"Merlin, Ron," said Harry, and everyone else nodded in agreement.

Slughorn gulped. "Merlin indeed, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley. Ron, isn't it?" he asked him in concern.

Ron blinked a few times, regaining his senses quickly. "I- uh, sorry for erm-"

Nearly setting fire to your classroom?

Slughorn clapped him on the back gingerly. "It's quite all right, Mr Weasley. No one was... was hurt..." the old man looked confused. "Now then, I don't mean it's not some of the most fantastic spellwork I've seen in a while: so fast, it was simply fantastic the way you put up the shield so quickly, and then amassed the ball of fire... but that was a terribly risky thing to do, Mr Weasley."

Slughorn was dazed, almost in awe. "And all wandless, too. I must say, Mr Weasley, that's the finest piece of magic I've seen in quite a while. I dare say it saved all our necks, too." He glanced him over once. "Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?"

Ron shook his head slowly. "No, sir. I'm fine. Just a bit tired, is all."

"You didn't singe your hands?"  
He shrugged. "They're fine now."

Slughorn nodded uncertainly. "Right, right. But perhaps you'd better pop over anyway, for the shock."

Then, he turned to Neville. "Mr Longbottom," he began sternly. "Perhaps you should be more... careful with your potions next time. Can't be fooling around with the draught of living death, it can cause the most terrible, awful side effects no matter how incomplete. Perhaps I am wondering if this course is quite right for you," said Slughorn, and Neville nodded glumly.

Ron felt his eyes widen. He supposed that it had been quite necessary, then, all his spellwork. He looked around, and saw Harry and Hermione looking at him with abject disbelief.

The Hufflepuffs on the other table looked the same. And then, they - to his utter astonishment - began to clap. Ron felt his eyebrows sliding all the way up to his hairline.

The Ravenclaws joined in too, and then his friends on the Gryffindor table... Slughorn and a few of the less sour Slytherins did, until it was only Malfoy who wasn't applauding them for saving his life, Ron was coming to realise _thank you very much._

What? He was allowed to feel a bit smug about it.

Ron blinked again, just to see if the image in front of his eyes would disappear. It didn't. From beside him Slughorn clapped him on the shoulder again, and muttered, "Simply marvellous, my boy. Would you like an invitation to the Christmas party?"

Ron blinked in surprise.

Well. He was far from the forest now.

How had he been back there so quickly?

* * *

People started talking to him more after the incident in potions. High-fives in hallways, more thanks from the people in the room. He's feeling pretty good at himself, a little less down than the vampirism had pushed him. Because it had, Ron couldn't lie.

Having your life turned upside down and having to resort to blood-drinking could do that to you. But things weren't all bad... he was still here, still at Hogwarts, wasn't he?

But, yeah. Ron couldn't go through two lessons without someone thanking him again, like that Hufflepuff girl with the name he kept forgetting.

"Thank you, Weasley," she said, nodding, light brown bob nodding right along with her.

"Er, you're welcome." He paused, robes slipping over his wrists and over the slightly warped finger on his ring. Yeah, it had warped; but Ron had checked - the runes were still intact. Still, a small bubble of worry rose up in his throat every time his finger ran over the melted metal. Holding a fireball wasn't so good for your jewellery.

"It's Sally," the girl said quickly, seeming to sense his dilemma. She looked down at where he was swivelling the ring around his finger, taking note of the grooves bidden into it. "Nice ring," she remarked, perhaps the first classmate of his to bring it up. "How did you damage it?"

He gave a half-hearted smirk. "Turns out fire and metal don't mix."

She nodded in understanding. "Thanks again, Ron."

And then she left, and Ron went on his way. Weird, he didn't think she'd ever spoken to him before. But by the time he got to breakfast, and he'd been stopped by another two people, one of them from another year, he thought maybe that might be a bit more regular.

He sat down at the Gryffindor table, and Hermione took one look at his utterly bamboozled expression and snickered.

"Have people been asking you about yesterday, then?" said Hermione, and Ron just nodded. Harry gave him a serious look, clasping a hand on his shoulder.  
"Do you know," and he cracked a grin, "how great it was to be asked about what someone else did, and not you? Seriously, though, Ron, that spell was insane. How'd you learn it?"

Ron grimaced. "You probably don't want me to answer that."

"No, go on," Harry said. He glanced at Hermione. "Only if you want to, um, talk about it, obviously." He dropped his voice. "About that man, in the um, forest."

Ron looked over at Hermione, and saw she wanted to understand what had happened to him.

Well. Ron sighed.

... It wasn't that exciting, but if they wanted to know, they could.

The Golden Trio didn't lie to each other. They'd been through far, far too much for that.

Ron shrugged, pouring himself a glass of water. "It's- it's fine, guys. He taught me pretty standard stuff... duelling, some spells... Occlumency."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "So you know that now? Huh." It wasn't unkind.

"Yeah. And a smidge of Legilimency." Ron had no qualms revealing all of this - it was near the end of breakfast, and everyone else was having their own conversations. Dumbledore had left already, along with a few other teachers. There was no one to overhear them, no one to snitch. As far as Ron knew.

"And then the tests would be duelling me until I... I don't know, managed to fight back. For the first few weeks I just got completely smashed every single night. Seriously. You don't know how many outfits I've had to banish because they were too stained and torn to put back together again. At least I got good at doing that charm," he muttered, glum.

Hermione had a blank look in her eye, her mouth a tight line. "And nobody noticed?"

Ron had a mouthful of water; it tasted of nothing, but that was the best he could get. "Of course they did. Mum and Ginny and dad all said I hardly focussed anymore, that I seemed too distracted. They said I was quieter, like I wasn't the same anymore. I suppose they were right." He considered the tabelcloth in earnest for a moment, a bitter taste filling his mouth at speaking about such unpleasant things... they'd plaged him for weeks Ron could remember the constant worry now.

"I felt awful lying to them, but there wasn't much else I could do - he threatened everyone, would describe how he could kill them so easily. And then crush me to pieces, of course. Mordecai wasn't a pleasant person."

Harry was silent. Hermione too. The bell went in the background, and Ron realised they were the only ones still left in there.

"I'm sorry, Ron, I really am," said Harry, voice slightly mournful.

"Don't bother, Harry, it's over now," the reply came out sharper than he had intended. He wasn't going to apologise. "Anyway, I'm grateful... in a fucked-up kind of way. Without it I would've given myself away ages ago. I needed the glamours, and control over my mind and stuff." He paused. "We'd only stop if dawn broke, or if I couldn't move anymore."

"Didn't he ever get tired?"

"Sometimes, I think. But he'd regenerate quickly and I was too weak to notice."

"I suppose all vampires can do that, then," said Hermione voice taking on an all-too-academic tone, "considering how quickly you recovered from the incident in potions. How far can your regeneration stretch? Did he ever come close to killing you?"

Ron laughed then. "'Mione, he's killed me plenty of times. But I know what you mean. And no, he wouldn't do that - he always made it seem like I was part of a larger plan. With the Death Eaters, I later found out. He wouldn't kill me if I was needed."

"So aren't you worried?" she prompted. "That he'll come back for you one day, even after you, Remus and Fleur made him leave?"

Ron shook his head. "Not nearly as much as I should," he said. "Mordecai's powerful. If he wanted to get me, he could. I... don't know if Hogwarts could stop him."

The wards were strong. But Mordecai's deception was too. Secret passageways were a worry, but most were inaccessible - or unknown. Ron was relying on Mordecai's lack of knowledge and experience of the castle to keep himself alive... and perhaps the power that danced at his fingertips.

Harry swallowed, and even Ron could hear it. "No, mate. We won't let that happen." There was a fierce glint in his eye that made Ron hesitate; he couldn't tell Harry that it was no use. They could fight, but... it wouldn't do much.

The guilt snaked inside his gut, pressing down, and Ron suddenly felt a terrible sense of foreboding. "We'll try," he said, but to who he wasn't sure. The Death Eaters couldn't get him yet... and Ron felt another fire stoke at his fingertips again; he stroked the weathered band of metal sat on his finger.

He always left it out, since glamouring it seemed stupid when he could pass it off as a family heirloom.

He had power, he was still coming to realise. And a lot of it. Ron couldn't be killed by reckless actions, he had no need to sleep or eat or rest. His regeneration, his power, and his hunger for it all was limitless. _He_ was limitless; the only thing holding him back (the sunlight) gotten rid of by the ring.

They'd all offered to deal with his hunger for him.

He felt happy for a moment. And then he felt terrible for that ephemeral moment of euphoria.

And then he felt like an impostor sitting at this bench, beside his human, silent friends; the potential he had to do miles of... something, whether it be good or bad, were endless. Unabiding to the usual tethers of life. _He_ was unabiding to the usual tethers of life.

It was a terrifying realisation, and one that had only just properly hit Ron.

He swallowed, and couldn't look at his friends anymore.

* * *

"We should duel sometime, Weasley," said a cool voice, and Ron turned to see Blaise Zabini stood in front of him.

It was break, and Ron had been making his way to the courtyard when he'd heard someone coming up behind him. After a few moments they had revealed themself to be Zabini, with a proposal for him.

Ron frowned. He was supposed to be staying out of trouble. "You what?" he asked tersely.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Don't be so touchy, Weasley. I asked if you wanted to duel."

"What?" he glanced around, saw nobody nearby. "Why do you want to duel _me_?"  
"Because I saw what you did yesterday in potions. It was good, I won't lie." Ron didn't like the dark , calculating glint in his eyes at that. "So, do you want to duel? You can practise, I can practise... it works for the both of us. We can see who's the best."

Ron eyed him cautiously. "Right," he said slowly, the challenge lighting a fire in his chest, at his fingertips.

Was it a bad idea to indulge that competitive flame?

Probably. Still he replied, "Er, okay then. I accept. When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, in the courtyard. We duel till first blood." Then, he promptly turned and left, leaving Ron stood there questioning whether he had made the right decision.

* * *

He came to Charms with the encounter still very much on his mind.

"I'm duelling with Blaise Zabini tomorrow, in the courtyard. I think after lessons?" Ron paused. "I should've really confirmed that before going, shouldn't I?"

Hermione stared at him blankly. "What?"

"Yeah, that's what I said at first," Ron raised his eyebrows, acting bewildered. "And Zabini called me rude. But then we talked some more, and I agreed."

"I- um."

"Yeah, it is a bit weird. But it'll be good to practise, you know?" Still his curly-haired friend said nothing, looking quite stunned. Ron looked around for Harry, who had paired with someone else for Charms, to tell him, but-

"Mr Weasley!"

Ron turned to see Professor Flitwick stood at the front, an unreadable expression on his face.

He felt his attention pick up. "Yes?"  
"Professor McGonagall has asked to see you in her office. Immediately."

He paused, and nodded. "Okay. But isn't it Charms?"

The professor's eyes creased, and his mouth tightened into a firm line. "This is important, Mr Weasley."

"O-okay, professor." He pushed his chair behind him, and Hermione shot him a bemused, but unstirred look.

"Be careful," she hissed to him before he left. "I have a feeling I know what this is about."

Ron didn't.

He thought he should've, though.

* * *

"Mr Weasley." Today Professor McGonagall looked far less pleasant, a tight grimace on her pursed lips and eyebrows flattened into harsh lines. In fact everything about her spoke of harshness, from the hard wiring of her stance to the hands clasped solidly together atop the desk.

"Yes, professor?" Ron asked.

"I assume you know what this is about," McGonagall pressed on.  
Ron nodded. "Not-um, really. No, I don't, professor."

"In your potions lesson, yesterday." Her gaze was steady and unwielding. "You used a... range of highly dangerous spells to disable an exploding potion, brewed by Mr Longbottom."

"A shield spell isn't dangerous-" he begun to argue, but McGonagall cut him off with a stern look.

"You know perfectly well what I mean, Mr Weasley," she reprimanded him. "You could've done serious damage with that fireball of yours. Now, I won't deny that the spellwork was excellent, perhaps more than I'd expect of a NEWT student, but considering your situation it was a _very_ foolish move.

"Do you not understand that, given you use too much higher magic, suspicion could arise?" she peered at him. "I admit, the potion was rather nasty but we could've gotten the pupils hit by it to the infirmary-"

"Why not save you the trouble?"

"-If you could stop interrupting me, Weasley, please; but my point is there was no need for that dangerous display of abnormal power. Did you not consider that people would think it odd a sixteen-year-old boy, one with perhaps just higher than average OWL results to be able to craft a fireball wandlessly? It's simply unfathomable! Not without something going on!"

Ron exhaled, and McGonagall went on. She talked about the Ministry getting wind of it and coming investigate... what if they wanted to retest his skills and his glamour slipped, or he revealed himself in some way... it was all very tedious, and it made Ron's resolve tighten into something that gripped his throat and made his stomach sink.

By the end, Ron had apologised for his actions and was out of the office. The entire Charms lesson had gone by (and thank Merlin, it had been on non-verbal charms. Ron not only hated most of them, but had many of them down already; the ones related to combat), so he met his friends at lunch instead.

"Morning," he said, picking up a sandwich and taking a bite. Quite a vicious one too, but luckily people mistook Ron forcing the food down like it was rubber for his usual eating habits. "Or is it afternoon?"  
"Is it true you're duelling with _Blaise Zabini_ _?_ "

He nearly choked at the sound of his sister, completely unprecedented behind him. Ron turned, a slightly sheepish expression on his face. "Yes?"  
Ginny shot him an odd look. "But you know he's really good, right?"

"And I'm not?"

She frowned. "Are you?"

Hermione got up before sitting down between them, Ron's knees knocking with hers for a fraction of a second. He shot her a surreptitious glance. "You both need to stop with the questions now, you're confusing me." She flipped a curl over her shoulder, and turned to Ginny. "Yes, Ron is going to duel Zabini, he told me in Charms before he got pulled away to McGonagall's office."

"And Hermione, I think you were right - it was about the potions thing. She told me off for being dangerous or whatever, even though that potion could've been dangerous!"

"Not really," Hermione pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah," Ron grumbled, crossing his arms. She shook her head at him exasperation.

Ginny nodded, picking up a sandwich for herself off the platter in front of them. "So you're still going to duel Zabini though, right? Even though it's certainly dangerous and could get you in trouble?"

"Of course." Ron shrugged. "It's only until first blood, he said, and I'm immortal _and_ indestructable, so I'll be fine."

"Yeah," replied Ginny. "You'd best hope you lose, though."

He eyed her in suspicion. "Why?"

"Because," and she took a bite of her sandwich, swallowing it before resuming what she was saying. "If his blood is spilled first, you might do something dangerous," she said nonchalantly, a thin layer of warning underneath.

"Oh... oh yeah..." Hermione looked like she was going to be sick for a moment; pale, and Ron shared the sentiment.

" _Shit_ ," Ron swore, and Ginny nodded synchronously.

"Think you can control yourself?" She patted him on the shoulder sympathetically, and swung her bag over her back. "Later, bro. I'm going to meet Dean." With that she flounced off, passing Harry who looked a bit dazed as she went.

"All right, mate?"

Harry snapped out of it, and turned to look at both of them. Hermione looked oddly smug.

"Yeah, fine," he said, and he sounded a bit more grounded, "but you'll never guess what I have tonight."  
"What?" They both said in unison.

"A meeting with Dumbledore, apparently. I think it's about the, um, prophecy, you know."

Ron nodded; he knew what Harry meant. He'd told them both about the prophecy fiasco a while ago.

"I hope he tells me how to kill Voldemort, too."

Ron nearly choked on thin air, again, just out of surprise and Hermione flinched. "Blimey, mate, you can't just keep saying his name all the time."

Harry brushed off his concerns. "Nah, you'll get used to it eventually. But still, I hope he does - you remember how it said only one can live while the other dies, so, I want it to be me. Obviously."

"Tell us about it after, okay?"  
Harry nodded at Hermione. "Sure, Hermione. But Ron - what was that about duelling with Zabini _?_ "

"Er- yeah, I agreed to it. And it's until first blood-" Harry's eyes widened slightly "- so, yeah, it should all go _swimmingly,_ what with my unfortunate tension around blood." Ron threw back the rest of his drink, downing it all in one. He sighed after the water had gone down. "Well, I can either throw the match, or get out of there before I can... I don't know, do anything." He glanced up at his friend. "And you should know what I'd be likely to do.

There was a hollowness in Ron's chest, only amplified by the lack of heartbeat, and it only pained more in that moment.

"Er," said Harry, clearly uncomfortable.

"I should back out-"

"I- maybe not, mate-" Harry said with a wince. "Half the year's talking about it now - better to make it look like a close defeat than a coward, right? Just throw it... whilst still looking skilled."  
"Shut up, we all know you have a problem with backing down from a fight. I don't have to have that problem too."

Harry gave him a disbelieving look. "Oh yeah, for sure." He turned back to his lunch and began digging in. Ron grumbled again and leant his chin on his crossed arms, on top of the table. Was going into this fight a stupid idea?

Probably.

But as silly and nonsensical and likely to get him in trouble as the whole thing was, Ron still went ahead with it.

He could always throw it. He would.

Ron still practised that night, anyway. He had time and plenty of it, so he headed up to the Room of Requirement; tonight, luckily, it was working. He wandered in with almost nothing in mind, and spent the whole night lazily firing at targets and practising stances. Making paper aeroplanes and whatever else consumed his boredom for more than half a minute.

It was boring, being so alone at night. Ron grimaced every time he saw his friends yawn and say the dreaded words, "I'm heading up to bed," because it meant the solitude would begin. But he could still remember what it felt like to crash into bed to finally get some rest for your aching muscles. He just couldn't relate anymore.

As Ron wandered back to the dormitory sometime around four in the morning, he debated sneaking out to Hogsmeade one of the nights - because what else was there to do around here?

He'd started taking the Marauder's map to search for passageways to explore... so far, most of his suspected had been a bust. Ron wanted to check out the one his brothers said was caved in, the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor.

Hm. Well, maybe not, it was quite far. Perhaps later, when he felt up to figuring out where the hell the dusty mirror was.

He'd asked Hermione what to do at night, and she'd replied homework. Ron said he'd done it all, and she sighed.

"What about sleeping? Tried that?"

"No," he replied, mildly affronted. "I can't."

"Well, it's not that hard," Hermione shuffled her papers in front of her at the breakfast table, frowning where some syrup had dripped onto one, "just close your eyes, and wait."

And there was no way he could admit that no, he could not just _close his eyes_ , because what if something happened? What if someone got hurt, and he could've stopped it - this supernatural sense had to be good for something, after all, so he had to use it.

He couldn't see the things that stayed stubbornly on his mind all the time, every day, imprinted on the back of his eyes stare back at him. Unmoving and smiling in the darkness, glad to finally catch him unawares.

It was a whole pile of nonsense of why he couldn't sleep that Ron couldn't attempt to explain, but made sense in his own head.

Ron wanted to sleep. Sometimes he felt so tired, so tired.

Maybe one day he'd try it again properly. Just to see. He couldn't have a proper attempt during the summer because his nights were too full of murder and fighting, but now... he was listless with all the empty time on his hands.

Eternity would be miserable if he couldn't sleep, after all.

Tomorrow. Not tonight... tomorrow, he would try.

Even hours away, Ron felt his throat tighten at the thought of trying to sleep again.

Could he dream again?

* * *

Before he knew it, Ron was stood in the courtyard, cold wind sweeping past and the grip on his wand tightening as his competitor slid into place ten feet away from him.

The next day and its lessons had gone by swiftly, and here he was. Come to fight.

"Till first blood, Weasley," said Zabini, eyes sharpening against the breeze. "Remember. And I want a good fight. We do all need the practice in times like these, do we not?"

He took his beginning stance quickly for the crowd, but it took an age for Ron. He wanted to go already; adrenaline spiked at his veins, energy thrummed through him like a rapid tap-dance. The beat Ron could hear in his head sped up in elation in place of a heartbeat and he took a steadying breath.

This wasn't Mordecai. He had to calm down. He couldn't just throw everything, not when quite a few of the newer spells he knew were dark. If Zabini got hurt Ron would drown in it, attracted to the scent, giving himself away in front of the crowd that had gathered in front of them both.

Just a small cut would finish it all. Just a drop of blood.

Another thing: Harry hadn't been joking. Half the year did know about the duel, and all of them had turned up.

Ron Weasley, the Gryffindor with new shiny skills, versus Blaise Zabini, the Slytherin who had the knowledge of a family library on his side. He had the old magic, most likely duelling lessons since he was a pureblood, and all Ron had to boast were random bouts of fast-paced, dangerous knowledge he'd picked up in the forest with a sketchy psychopath.

Ron wasn't going to lie. He was excited, and feverishly so. It sent shockwaves up his spine to be in a position so familiar, but against an opponent he might well have the upper hand on.

He'd experience danger first-hand; he hadn't been coddled. Perhaps Zabini had done.

Figures still lurked in the smoked fog in his mind, but for the moment Ron was able to put them aside. Now wasn't the time.

The crowd was split by whose side they were on, Ron even hearing murmurings of bets being placed. Essentially, Gryffindor verus Slytherin, with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs scattered on both sides. Zabini was a decent challenger without many enemies. He was a slight twat, known for his somewhat reserved temperament. He blood-purist, and although he wasn't loud about it that didn't make the offence any worse if he didn't talk about it.

Ron would enjoy grinding him to a pulp. If he could.

(Metaphorically, of course.)

And you know what, he _could_. He would. Confidence was key, as Mordecai had shown him.

Despite the complications, he would still fight. Maybe just to get Zabini back for all the times he'd called Hermione a mudblood. Ron would get him back. So he copied the stance, as was perfunctorary and waited: five, four, three, two one-"

"Confringo!"  
Verbal, and wanded. Easy enough to block - Ron held up his forearm in one impassible line, stopping the spell with a non-verbal shield. He shifted a little.

His move. He decided he'd go easy; he had no idea how good Zabini was, and that was half the game. Ron needed to puzzle this out before he tried any more advanced spells.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego," the other boy muttered, and the spell was blocked. Impressive - there was little hand movement, only a small swipe. Ron decided to take it up a notch, or a few.

"Incendio!" He had to hiss, but quieter than Zabini could hear, and sent a spout of fire out of his wand.

It wasn't nearly far enough to singe Zabini, but it distracted him - the flames rose and spat, metres away, but he still jerked back with a cry of surprise. And the crowd, too: they screamed at the sudden abunance of hot red flames spilling through the courtyard.

Ron used the distraction to try and knock him off his feet with a well-aimed jelly-legs jinx, but before he could Zabini shot a spray of water at the fire with a loud aguamenti. Unsurprisingly, the wind picked it up and shot it right back at him.

Great. Now Ron's soaking wet, and it's cold - good thing he can't feel it. He murmured a warming spell and the water dried - next, he decided to pull a move that had fucked him over too many times before. Complicated to do, but that gave him an edge.

He could only do it with one spell so far. But that was enough.

He begun waving his wand about like he was going to do some kind of spell (Mordecai could get his hand movements to look specific, but all Ron could do so far was a weird, wibbly spiral or something) and watched Zabini gear up to take on... whatever he thought it was.

On his other hand he swished his fingers quietly, and fired a furnunculus at him. It hit this time, causing nasty, seeping boils to erupt across his face. Zabini swore quite audibly, spitting "Expelliarmus!" To buy himself time to use the counter-curse.

Ron side-stepped the spell, the red zap whizzing past him and firing two more expelliarmuses right back at Zabini.

Two, why not, he could. He did one with his hand, and one with the wand. The crowd made according noises, hushed exclamations.

Zabini only just threw up a protego maxima in time, face still dotted with painful-looking boils. But no blood yet.

 _Yet._ Ron should, _could_ , still throw the fight. To the side of him Hermione was gesturing quite insistently, so-

Green, violently sparking, _very violent_ -

Ron was hit with some kind of curse that made pain erupt in front of his eyeballs, fast.

For Merlin's sake. He'd been watching the crowd, not the fight. But what the hell was this spell? Ron was completely blind, all he was able to see being green ink. It hurt, it hurt, it pressed into his eyes, _God_ , he couldn't think-

"Oh Blaise, you've got him now," chittered a voice to the side of him. Zabini laughed. Ron rubbed his eyes furiously (not stupid enough to attempt a scourgify _on his eyeballs_ ).

Zabini laughed and replied in a svelte voice, "He shouldn't have cheated, then."

Ron resigned himself to having lost his sight, before he gritted his teeth and shouting back furiously, "Cheat?! When did I cheat, you-" Ron swallowed before he could finish the sentence, another thing that felt suspiciously like a stem pricking him in the eye and causing constellations of pain to erupt in the darkness once again, forcing his hand up to rub his eye.

Why couldn't his vampire healing kick in already and fix this?!

He was genuinely considering a scourgify now, even if he got it wrong and it bleached through his eyeballs, probably; it would fucking painful, but if there was no other way...

Was he blinded? Ron's breathing began to increase, he couldn't think of another way to fix this- was there even a counter-curse? Could he just... pick his eyeballs out? (He shuddered.)

Ron tried to scratch at the edges of the blindfold, but it just pricked him and stung him until he left it alone again. The vampire healing wasn't getting rid of this anytime soon.

"When you shot fire at me," said Zabini, and Ron didn't have to have his sight to be able to hear the thinly-veiled silver in his tone, making it sharp and cutting through the hushed silence of the packed courtyard.

"What?"

"Oh, you _imbecile_ , I said to first blood. You can't burn me to a crisp!" Zabini grumbled.

Ron snickered, which seemed to be the wrong thing to do. He had left his eyes now, feeling the earhty green, speckled ichor dripping down his face. "You put it out anyway, and it was nowhere near you. It was just a distraction."

Zabini hissed with displeasure. "You could've killed me, you blood-traitor scum. Do you know who I am, my family?"

Ron frowned. "Yeah, I know your family, all the deaths. Bit funny they're all dead after only a few months of marriage to your mother. Yeah, there are rumours of her killing them, but we all know it's an accident - not her fault she hasn't figured out how to cover her face yet-"

Zabini growled, sending a diffindo spinning at him a second later.

So, he wanted to finish things.

Ron heard a shout or two of, "Yeah, c'mon, Blaise!" Before his attention was preoccupied by dodging the spell.

He heard the sighs on his own side. He was practically blind, unable to see, so it was practically over for him. And things probably would've been, had Ron not had vampiric senses on his side.

He had to make it look natural though. At least a bit.

With a practised ease Ron stepped to the side, slow smile spreading over his face.

"Come on, Blaise. That was _awful_ \- I don't think you would have hit me even if I didn't move."

He tried again.

"Expelliarmus!"

Ron stepped to the other side, shaky expression turning to a grin. "Getting sloppy, Zabini."

"Tarantellagra!"

"Rub _bish_ ," Ron tutted.

"Densaugeo!"

"Awful," he remarked, and shot a few bolts of light to where he though Zabini was. They were accurate, and he felt Zabini clasp his arm with a wince and a following, "Stupefy, you prick!"

Ron growled, waving his wand. _Flipendo, stupefy._ A cocktail of colours sent out into the air.

He fired a bat-bogey hex, then another, by the sounds of things, and Ron jumped over it, wobbling on the landing slightly. He wasn't perfect.

"Merlin, Zabini, and I'm the one who's supposed to be blindfolded-"

"How are you doing that?" said Zabini angrily. "You can't see!"

"I'm a keeper," Ron deadpanned. "And I do practice. I need to know what's flying at me, and how to move around it."

That much was true. But what he didn't add on was that he was also a vampire.

"Plus, your aim's _shit._ "

Zabini fired one last hex at him, something unamed and unrecognised by Ron, but he let it swipe his cloak lightly, taking a chunk out of it.

He yelped, like he'd just missed accidentally and swore.

Ron paused, and listened to Zabini's heartbeat. Frustrated, a fast and angry kind of thumping.

Well. Ron couldn't tell that from the heartbeat, but the gritted teeth and cursing were also a sign.

He'd had enough now. So, he shot out a diffindo, intending to make a neat cut in Zabini's arm. But he blocked it. Ron tried again, and again it was blocked.

There was more back and forth, more constant shooting of spells, before Ron began to get irritated.

First, this bastard blinds him, calls him a blood-traitor and then a few other things (he could hear the curses under his breath). So, he again used a slightly questionable spell taught to him by Mordecai.

It was a mutated one; it combined geminio and waddiwasi.

It had no verbal name, and could shoot and multiply objects rapidly. And Ron needed it. For his target he picked the boy opposite and then he picked some of the small stones littering the path to fire. They would cut, if thrown fast enough.

Ron didn't even stop, didn't even consider if he had gone too far. If he was a savage he didn't care - it was a delicious kind of power to know you had the better card than the other player.

He took his shot.

"Gemiwadi miniowasigemin!" He yelled, waving his wand, it sounding like he'd choked on a foreign dictionary. Ron heard the double-takes, the shock - and then a scream.

The small, sharp stones threw themselves up into a blurring hurricane, and directed themselves at Zabini. It hit him at the speed of a broom going full-throttle, and several cuts split open across his face, hands, arms.

He could smell them.

They were small. Insubstantial, in most cases where they had merely grazed his skin.

Ron felt it when he dropped his wand, too surprised to do anything else but touch the cuts along his skin. Around him the stones lying littered around him like the remnants of an explosion, some spattered with blood.

Ron knew he'd gone too far, but there was a cold, heavy feeling in his stomach much like the guilt that kept him from moving, set like stone but ready to spring back up again at a moment's notice.

The cold shot along his veins like morphine. His mind was still racing, vibrating with energy, wondering where the fight was, when he'd have a rematch.

His excitement, his temper, his energy was sprinting way ahead of him. In his head he knew he'd _gone too far, what was he doing-_ but he didn't care. This was the most alive Ron had felt in weeks. The hollow felt more concave that ever, but had the lick of a simulated, battle-born soul to keep him warm again.

He felt a bit more like he had a purpose. He'd come into this second life fighting and losing, and here he was weeks later fighting again and _winning_ this time.

It felt like a full circle. Ron paused, and came to himself again. He was still blind.

He could still smell the blood. It was starting to twist him again, he could feel it.

Sometimes it still felt like he was trying to keep up with his new body, his new mind. Because it was all different, no matter how much he tried to make out it wasn't or the people around him did.

Ron had no idea what that meant.

"Mr Weasley!"

A shout erupted through the courtyard, and Ron recognised it as Professor McGonagall's: stern, and fiery.

He could feel the blood trying to entrance him already. He'd almost forgotten for a moment.

Ron stopped breathing entirely, trying to stop it from wafting up his nostrils - but it was almost useless... Ron just thanked Merlin he wasn't too thirsty. Because then, things would've gone downhill.

He shook his head to shake loose some of the... effect the blood was having on him.

"Weasley, my office now! And someone get Zabini to the infirmary!" The woman shouted harshly, and Ron recoiled slightly, with her being a few feet away from him.

S _hit._

Ron was in deep, deep trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D'you think Ron went too far?
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading. Massive chapter again, but if I don't beef them up I end up with 100 of the things lying around. Actually scrap that last statement, my documents are still a mess.
> 
> I kinda forgot Neville wasn't in the NEWT potion group, but it's fine he's gone now. Sorry Neville, bye love xxx.
> 
> Also, if you don't know the plot of HBP please go and google it. I'm nicking half of it purely because it's easier, and I don't see a reason to change it... so might be easier if you know what I'm creating a bootleg vampire version of.
> 
> Thanks again!
> 
> -Tea33 :)
> 
> Also, I just wanted to add that the hiatus was so I could get more chapters ahead. This still isn't quite fully written yet, I'm still tweaking, so if I ever do take another hiatus (could do) keep in mind I'm still writing. Just taking a break from posting.


	21. Blind

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Twenty-One: Blind

Ron was led back to McGonagall's office with her hand on his shoulder like a handcuff preventing him from escape. She led him down hallways with her palm firmly there, up several flights of stairs, and he had the strangest feeling she giving him the cold shoulder. A subpolar shoulder, actually; he knew from the still, conversation-less air and rigid way she dragged him through the school.

Because it wasn't like he could see. He was blind, thanks to that dark spell Zabini used on him. He didn't know how to take it off, but he'd more than tried.

He hoped it wasn't permanent.

"Are we going to your office?" he dared to ask, the tightly-wound feeling in his muscles still not having dissipated. There was too much energy buzzing about.

Couldn't get rid of it now.

"Yes, Weasley," she replied sternly. And then it was back to cool, empty silence.

Ron didn't mind. It was better than shouting.

"Are we nearly there?" he asked after the third flight of stairs, each one difficult to climb when you couldn't see. Merlin, if she could just _take off the blindfold_ -

Because it could be taken off, right?

McGonagall kept walking, not even slowing down in her (their, but it didn't feel like it) ascension of the school. Ron had to try and remember which were the sinking stairs on his own. "Just up ahead," she replied.

"Right."

Ron didn't like where this was going.

When he reached her office, he paused, gesturing at his face.

"Professor, can you get this off me now?" he asked, noting there were two other people in the office as he did-

_He'd deal with them once the blindfold was gone._

"Yes, Weasley, I can," she sighed, muttering something before the gunk was finally removed from Ron's face.

His eyes watered and the world came in in blinding slants of intrusive colour; it hurt, but he adjusted quickly. Ron blinked again, eyes stinging and stinging and fire, before his healing kicked in to rid him of most of the discomfort.

He saw that the two people in the office were his parents, sat side by side on a bench, the roaring fire only highlighting their haughty features strained with tension. Neither looked pleased, and Ron could take a guess why.

His eye sparked again and, with the back of one hand he rubbed them; it came back glittering with a tear of irritation.

"Now then," she began, and all Ron could think about was how much trouble he was in. His _parents_ were here. "Usually in this case I would take points off your house for fighting, assign you a detention, and leave it at that. But that is not the case." She peered at him. "Mr Weasley you do realise that if it ever gets out what you were at this school, and your record is looked into and found troublesome, the Ministry may force you into exile? In fact," and she laughed slightly, "that may be the least punishment you are served."

Ron hesitated. He thought he had done "I- I already know, I read the posters - but I didn't _do_ anything bad-"

"You duelled with someone who, unlike you, is not unbreakable." She gave him a thinly-layered glare. "I think you forgot who your opponent was."

Maybe she wasn't wrong. He had felt like he was somewhere entirely different for a few moments.

"And don't worry, I'll be punishing Zabini too - duelling is prohibited without a teacher present." She turned back to Ron's father. "But that is usually the proceedings with creatures, is it not, Arthur?"

His father nodded. "Magical creatures, once discovered, can't really have a normal life in society. The danger is too great, according to the law." His expression tightened, became more severe. "I'm sorry Ron, but you just can't do things like this anymore. Not unless you want that for yourself, or you want to be discovered."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "It is a risk having you here anyway, Mr Weasley, what with all the temptation. If it is too much-"

"I can handle myself," he couldn't stop himself from responding, a little sharper than he had intended. "And it was a duel that both of us agreed to be in - doesn't that count as studying or someth-"

"There was not a teacher present to mediate the terms and to stop the battle if things got out of hand, so no, Mr Weasley, it was not within the realms of studying," she replied crisply. "What you did to Mr Zabini was extremely dangerous, especially considering your... situation towards blood. And you did not have it under control at all - I saw the way you looked when the blood hit the air, don't lie to me." She gave him an exasperated look. "Didn't think it might be a bad idea beforehand, or that you had gone too far?"

Ron's expression remained iron, but inside he conceded that perhaps she had a point. His expression wavered.

"I- I apologise, professor - maybe it wasn't the best idea-"

"And not only that," she continued on, voice raising, "But the duel did not bode well with your recent show-off in potions class. You cannot flaunt your magic, Mr Weasley, not when people might ask why you appear to have experience you did not have three months ago," she snapped, and Ron clamped his jaw shut.

Her eyebrows were slanted heavily, corners of her mouth upturned, the only two things other than her crisp, haughty tone that belied her true aggravation. and Ron found himself apologising again, promising to learn from his mistakes.

"I- okay, professor," he admitted, eyes on the floor. "I- I'm sorry." He looked up again, met her eyes. "I'll be more careful next time."

Whether his words were true or not, Ron wasn't sure. He hoped so, but with him and his friends' penchant for trouble, they might not be.

McGonagall rose from her seat, and inclined her head at him. "That will do, Weasley. Still I expect you tomorrow morning for detention, Weasley. Now I have a meeting to get to, and I'll leave you to your parents," she said, levering herself from her chair and marching past to the door. Ron watched her go with a sinking feeling in his heart; he turned back to his parents.

"All right, mum?" he asked, and she looked at him. She drew in a sharp breath of surprise.

"Yes, yes, fine dear, but Ron, your eyes, they're- _red_ ," she hissed, like it was something shameful, and Ron blinked at her. He recast the glamour quietly, watching his mother's expression go from guarded to relaxed again.

It struck Ron how he was quite used to it now. The lack of heartbeat. No need to breathe. He pretended they existed, to keep up the appearance of being human, but he was quite content without them.

His friends had adjusted too. Just last week when someone in Herbology received a large cut from a wayward snargaluff pod, Harry said he didn't feel well and Sprout allowed Ron to escort him to the medical room.

Really they'd just played wizard's chess on a pocket set in an old dusty classroom for twenty minutes, until the linger of the blood was be gone. Then they went back in again like nothing had happened, when the control that had slipped was reigned back in.

And when the tables were turned, when Ron really had to go to the medical room for his weekly dosage of blood, his friends were always waiting for him when it was all over.

It just made him feel a bit warmer - to know they were still there for him, even after all the rubbish they'd been through already.

He was getting better at controlling his thirst, too.

Last time he'd only had to sit in an empty classroom for ten minutes before Harry, his very human friend could be near him again.

No one raised an eyebrow at Harry's sudden aversion to blood. Hardly anyone noticed and, if they did, they assumed his history with fights was enough to scar him just a bit. And hey, sometimes they swapped him out for Hermione.

Ron couldn't have the aversion to blood just in case someone pieced it together.

Those times with her were fun, too. Walks around the grounds, under the invisibility cloak Harry had been so kind to let them borrow, swapping jokes under a hidden tree. It was all very... nice.

So his parents' inability to adapt now... got on his nerves a little, that they were still so allergic to the sight of him with red eyes. He wasn't that scary - just Ron.

He felt like snapping for a second, but held back. Held back, until he scolded himself for being so rash.

They were his parents. His poor parents who had had this all dumped on them mercilessly. Ron couldn't afford to be cruel, or impatient, or selfish anymore; McGonagall had been right in saying he couldn't test the rules anymore.

He wanted to, though. More so than the previous years he felt like avoiding the norm and going his own way. Maybe, it was the nature of his species pushing the rebellion on him... but it still remained regardless of its source.

Maybe it was the boredom stemming from weeks of nights spent alone in the castle (it had been weeks now, Ron had to remind himself; the time still flew on by despite the complications) finally taking its toll, or trudging to the same lessons day in day out. Quidditch matches were fun, that was true, but Ron felt like the game was too _slow_ , sometimes.

He couldn't blame anyone around him for that, though. It was him.

So he quietly recast the glamour.

His mother breathed a sigh of relief once the glamour was back up, and Ron felt an involuntary pang of annoyance run up his spine.

She smiled. "How are you, love? Not hurt?"

"Fine, mum," he returned the smile faintly.

"Getting up to trouble, though, aren't you?" She tutted, eyes darkening now he had confirmed he was all right. "You- you can't _do_ that, you understand?"

Ron nodded, seeing his own blue irises reflected back in hers. "Yes, mum."

"You have to be careful this year, son," added his dad. "I know you and Harry and Hermione want to get in the same trouble you always get in, but you can't. Not this year."

Ron shrugged, fingers trailing across the hem of his cloak, torn from the battle. "We never try, dad."

He nodded. "I remember. 'The trouble just finds us', right?"

"Right. And the thing in potions did, and the duel. Zabini was the one who asked me."

His dad winced. "Now Ron, I don't like that family any more than you do, Ron, but you were the one who _agreed_ to the duel."

His mother nodded. "Minerv- Professor McGonagall also said that the potion wasn't lethal, either. You could have done nothing."

"It would still have hurt people!"

"Not seriously." His mother frowned. "Ron... in any other situation, I would have been so proud of you for doing that, for stopping it. As long as you were safe. But you _have to understand_ , the Ministry is not kind to creatures. They won't see your heroic act that way - they would have blamed you for the explosion instead."

"That's- that's... yeah." Ron looked at them both uneasily. "True. It's true, I know."

His mother continued on. "We just have to hide this as best we can, okay? Like- like someone like you should."

"Okay, Mum." he stammered out, a little uneasy, and she nodded at him again. "I... won't do it again."

He would try not to.

"I'll behave from now on."

McGonagall had a prim expression on her face in the corner of the room, like this was what she had been expecting, what she had wanted. She was wrong: Ron knew even as he was saying that he probably wouldn't do so.

Maybe he'd just have to be a little more careful about not getting caught. After all, he'd been successful with sneaking about at night and hiding his vampirism. If anyone could hide something, it was him.

He was going to ignore that disastrous summer. And now he was out of it, he could call it that. A complete fucking disaster, because that was what it had truly been.

Ron walked out of McGonagall's office with his eyes still aching from the blindfold and watering occasionally, and feeling the same as ever. His shoulders were still straight and his head was up.

He exhaled slowly. He would be facing a lot when he joined the rest of the school again, he knew.

* * *

The tension in the Great Hall was palpable. Worse than that of McGonagall's office, which Ron had left after talking some more with his parents and heading down to lunch.

It was because of them, the tension. The duel. Zabini had lost, but claimed Ron cheated in his win.

Ron didn't think he did. He thought Blaise had cheated with that blindfold spell.

He wasn't sure where anyone else lay, though. He haltingly walked over to the Gryffindor, noting the dull stares and dirty looks he got along the way.

"Er, hi?"

He decided to sink into the bench beside Hermione, hoping things wouldn't be too bad. Her and Harry were midway through a conversation and after Ron said his achingly awkward bit, and turned to face him.

"Oh, Ron," said Hermione, and Ron winced.

Harry looked pretty grim. "You're in for a hell of a few days, mate. All the Slytherins hate you."

He almost couldn't dare to ask it. "And you two?" he flicked his anxious gaze over to Hermione. "What do you two think?"

"The rocks were too far, but Zabini's fine now."

He was. He was over at the Slytherin, sat up and eating lunch and spewing bile about Ron to the rest of the snakes.

Yeah, he was going to get attacked at some point.

"And he did blind you- how are your eyes, by the way?"

Ron blinked. They were better now.

"Fine," he said. "But they did ache for a few minutes."

"How horrible for you."

Ron snorted, letting the smile linger on his face for a second before he turned to Harry. "And you, mate? What do you think?"

Harry didn't hesitate, instead just flashing him a grin.

"You're fine, Ron," he said. "I think I've gotten up to worse over the years, and you've both been my friends still... most of the time. Besides, I hate Zabini, and blinding you was not part of the rules."

"Well technically it was, since it was to first blood and the blindfold didn't actually draw any bloo-"

"Well, we'll ignore that," he said contentedly. "Just sit down and have some... bread," Harry offered instead.

Ron sat down with a slight glower. "You know that doesn't work anymore, right? The offer of food."

Harry didn't look deterred. "You sat down, didn't you?"

A shout suddenly came from across the hall.

"Weasley's a dirty cheat!"

Zabini shushed the third year that had yelled it from close by him, but everyone could tell it was half-hearted.

Ron laughed, and swivelled round on the bench. With his friends backing him up, he felt a little better.

"What about that dark blinding spell Zabini? I'm sure that was perfectly legal-

"I wouldn't have used it if _you_ hadn't used the fire first," Zabini spat in disgust, and then Ron turned around again and shook his head bitterly. Ron and Harry watched him with a narrow glare. "Prat," he muttered, and the whispers grew louder.

Zabini twisted round again.

Ron snorted, and to his side Harry shook his head. "I could've died!

"No way, Zabini. You're off your head!" Harry shouted, and Cho Chang turned around in her seat.

"But don't you thinkhewent a bit far?" she said, shooting a nasty glare at Ron.

Harry got a sullen look on his face. "Ron was _blind_. It's lucky he fought back at all with Zabini on the other side-"

A crow of ourtrage from a group of rogue, alliance-less Hufflepuffs.

"Both of you are being stupid!" yelled Anthony Goldstein, like he was above them all. "Ron shouldn't have used the fire spell, Zabini shouldn't have blindfolded him. It was _completely_ uncalled for-"

"It was completely called for!"  
For the third time that meal, in which almost no one ate a thing, the hall devolved into complete chaos. Professor Sprout walked in just as food began flying in the air.

"Stop this at once, children!" She shouted above the noise, but it didn't do much. Dumbledore was missing again, as he always seemed to be this year.

Ron thought it was weird, as did Harry. The man had hardly spoken to him since the negotiations in the Burrow. Dumbledore did all that, so it made sense for him to head the negotations in the hall. But he'd been missing for weeks at a time.

Sprout waved her wand, and a greenish glow settled over the hall, stopping flying hunks of bread and squished peas in their trajectory across the hall. Zabini looked like he was grinding his own teeth.

Ron released the jug he had in his hand (he was considering sealing the top and sending it flying over to where Cho Chang was sitting, but that would get him into more trouble and Hermione was already pestering him about keeping in line after Ron told them what McGonagall had said in the office) and listened as Sprout began a tedious speech about house unity.

Rubbish, in his opinion. Zabini was clearly in the wrong here. Hermione took the jug from his hand, and vanished it.

"You shouldn't do that," she muttered. "We don't want you expelled."

He shrugged. "Maybe I don't care anymore."

Hermione gave him a wide-eyed look. "But _I_ do. Otherwise how would I see you? I mean, both of us see you?"

Ron shrugged. "Guess you're right. Besides, I... don't really want to go either."

Hermione gave him a wide, rare smile, and he thought it made her eyes look rather pretty.

* * *

"Harry, mate?"

The other boy paused, checking to track Slughorn's progress around the room and his quill came to a standstill. "Yeah?" he whispered.

"Er... where's Dumbledore?"

Harry pulled a face, and glanced up again. The aged professor was two rows away, pointing a finger at someone else's work. They were safe.

Ron pressed on, edging closer. "Is it something to do with your meetings with him?"

"Yes-" he hissed back urgently, pausing to note something down as Slughorn's gaze passed over them. "It is. Have I told you what we've been doing?"

"Yeah, about seeing the memories-"

"Everything all right, boys?"

Ron nearly jumped clean out of his seat. Seemingly out of nowhere the professor had appeared, moustache wriggling as he debated both of them carefully.

"Only, I heard something. And this essay is supposed to be written in silence. It couldn't have been either of you, could it?"

Harry coughed nervously, and Ron winced.

"I'm sorry, professor," he said. "I don't know who it was. Maybe it was Zabini-"

"Don't pin it on me, you t-"

"Mr Zabini! Language, please." Slughorn cried, an eyebrow raised, before resuming his walk around the classroom, his chest puffed out.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Harry started talking again.

"He's searching for things, basically." The ink began scritching across Harry's page again and Ron began to think, the words simmering in the background.

He frowned. "Has he told you anything else, like when he's going to be back?"

"Detention, Mr Weasley!"

Ron groaned. How come he was always the one caught? "But why, sir? I was just asking about the work."

The professor had a disbelieving on his face. "Don't take me for a fool, Weasley. I know you weren't. And brilliant though you are, I won't tolerate talking out of turn in my class."

A Ravenclaw snickered, tossing a strand of her hair back, and Zabini smirked.

"That's what you get, Weasley-"

"Detention for you too, Mr Zabini," announced Slughorn, cutting over the top of the snide remark.

Zabini sat back again, jaw clenched shut. He shot a venemous glare at Ron, who in return flipped him off from under the table.

Slughorn grimaced at the both of them. "Perhaps the detention will solve this trivial feud of yours."

Ron almost laughed. They weren't going to get over this anytime soon.

He _knew_ he won that duel, despite Zabini's outrageous claims. He'd spelled circles around that untalented dunce, and had told him so multiple times. Even Hermione said so, and she was practically impartial.

It was rather nice of her to have his back, Ron thought. It made him feel a bit warmer, more supported in moments like that duel. Stood opposite an opponent, cold swirling around him and blind... but his chest had been warm.

* * *

If Potions had been a bore, the detention was worse. At least he'd had Harry and Hermione to ward off the boredom, the three of them discussing the Harry's recent sessions with Dumbledore.

"He shows me memories, if you'll believe it."

Ron almost hadn't for a second.

"Really?" he said, eyebrows reaching his hairline it felt like. "What about?"

"Voldemort-" Harry went on, ignoring Ron's flinch, "-or at least they're connected to him. Dumbledore says it's important to know about his origin in order to take him down."

"Dumbledore says a lot of things," Ron muttered.  
Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I guess he does."

And they had finished the work in silence.

And now, Ron was stood waiting outside Slughorn's rooms. Bag in hand, a heavy frown sat on his face.

This was utter _rubbish_. All he'd done was talk a little, no need for thirty minutes of _lines_ or whatever Slughorn was going to make him do. Clean out the cauldrons; top up ingredients; it was all pointless.

Ron would still talk again, if the time called for it.

But it wasn't just scrubbing out cauldrons alone: it was with Zabini, his opponent in the pretty sizeable feud between the houses they'd accidentally started.

He'd already heard the rumours flying about, the whispers he was going to properly torch Blaise after Slughorn turned his back. Ron was going to cast such a strong incendio on the boy, stronger than what he'd done that day on the courtyard, that he'd only be able to shriek for a second before the fire turned inward and scattered him to ashes.

And, only in some of the more vicious rumours, Ron would run his hands through the darkened cinders and laugh manically.

Good God. Who would even come up with that?

The Ravenclaws walking past, apparently.

Ron scowled at the stone floor below until he felt movement beside him, a figure swaggering over.

He glanced up and it was Zabini, of course. Scowling too.

"Just for the record," he remarked as he drew closer, "I still think you're a prat and I won the fight. You cheated."

Ron laughed callously. "Didn't doubt you'd think that for a second, you big-headed-"

"Now now, boys! Wouldn't want to get yourselves into a deeper mess than you begun in!"

It was Slughorn, his door open. He opened it wider, revealing - Ron guessed it - piles of dirty cauldrons.

Slughorn saw where Ron was looking, and beamed.

"Usually boys, I would simply scourgify the remains away, but I thought it would make a good detention for you two instead. That it would teach you a lesson, perhaps." His tone tightened. "Don't think I won't know if you've used magic. I have sensors placed around the room, you know. All right," he clapped his hands together, robe at his sides shifting. "I will be back in about an hour."

With that he just left, no explanation of where he was going. Zabini shrugged, walked in to sling his bag below a nearby seat, and reached for a book. He gave an unbothered stare to Ron's confused one.

"Do get started, Weasley," he called out, head already behind the pages, and Ron flipped him off where he couldn't see, a bitter taste in his mouth. "I'll join later."

Twat.

Half an hour went by; no other sound could be heard other than the scrubbing of Ron against the cauldrons, and Zabini turning the pages of his book.

Ron grumbled very loudly every two minutes, just to interrupt him - and it worked.

"Got something to say, Weasley?" Blaise had a scowl on his face, and set his book down with a thump.

He continued scrubbing. "Not unless it's shove off, you prat."

"Want to duel again?"

Ron blinked in surprise, hand stilling on the sponge, now mottled with flecks of blue from the potions.

"Properly, this time. No cheating with fire, or stones."

Ron turned around. "No blinding me, either. Just practice, right?"

"Yes. I want to know who'd be the best out of us two."

"Me."

He smirked. "That's likely."

Ron faced him, bored. "So what? You duel people for the practise?"

He twirled his wand across his fingertips. "Correct."

Ron's expression hardened. "All right. Let's get going; this detention isn't going to get any more interesting."

* * *

Slughorn had been minding his business, munching on some candied pineapple in the staffroom when he felt a disturbance in the charm he'd put down earlier. It connected directly to his potions room, and when triggered would leave an odd tingling sensation in the caster.

Dropping the box immediately (and tucking it into a cupboard, he didn't want Filius to get at it), he hastened to make his way back to the dungeons, sweeping down corridors and twisting down staircases.

It had barely been half an hour. Could they not go so long without using magic?

Horace harrumphed to himself; perhaps this had been more trouble than it was worth; he knew the other professors had left it alone on account of not wanting to get involved, since these things usually sorted themselves out on their own anyway.

Well, he didn't think so, but Minerva had appeared convinced-

He paused. Ahead he could hear the telltale whistle of spells flying through the air, of shields thrown up before the disaster in hopes of protection, of battles and dying and little left living.

He swallowed, remembering it all. But then he came back to the present - and something in his mind, clicked.

Quickly, he removed his wand from his sleeve and brandished it ahead of him in a warning to the air around him, and sped up towards the classroom.

Perhaps it had been silly to put two members of argument in detention together, especially freshly after their duel. Very silly indeed.

He almost crashed through the door, already a spell to force them apart on his lips, but then he stopped. Horace paused in the doorway to observe the two boys circling in the centre of the classroom, determination written clear as day across their features and movements blurred in their speed.

They were duelling again, that much was obvious... but it was different. Horace had hesitated, and he was glad-

"Expelliarmus!"

Because actually, this didn't look too bad.

Weasley let a shower of steam seemingly come from his wrist for the next move, and Zabini coughed. Fired a stunner into the mist.

Weasley yelped and fumbled up a shield charm. He shot something that looked rather like a rictusempra to the other side, and Zabini ducked. It crashed into a nearby desk and sent papers flying everywhere, but the Weasley boy used that to his advantage to craft a tornado that could encase the other boy, paper swirling dizzyingly until Horace wondered how he could even breathelet alone see-

"All right! Time out, time out." The paper dropped, and the mist cleared. Zabini emerged, looking sour. "You win this time, Weasley. But only this time."

He smiled easily, flexing his fingers. "And the last six times. Am I getting something for winning, by the way? Like a pri-"

He stopped dead. Turned around and his gaze landed straight on Slughorn, those oddly piercing eyes of his magnetic in the way they clicked right into him. Horace felt uncomfortable for a second under the persecution, but shook his head. Shook away the old memories.

Zabini had swung round too, but not nearly as fast or as unsettlingly as Weasley had done it.

There was _something_ about him Horace was particularly interested in, just something about him. He would know; he had a good eye for the students set apart from the rest.

He didn't think he was the only one either. In fact he had his suspicions some knew just what was wrong with the boy, but Minerva hadn't budged an inch yet. And he had offered her premium tickets to a Harpies game, too... so far, all Horace could do was invite the Weasley boy to a Slug party, and hope whatever it was that was different made itself evident.

Was it a bad thing, or not?

He honestly didn't know.

"Er, sorry sir," Weasley bowed his red head, gaze dropping for a second. But then it was back up, and there was the odd look in his eyes again. "I- we'll get back to scrubbing the cauldrons-"

"Oh, nonsense." He waved his arm, and the cauldrons were clean again. Surfaces scratched from age but gleaming all the same. He gave them a bemused expression. "That was rather fascinating, Zabini, Weasley." He hesitated, remembering the way Weasley had stopped when Zabini gave the word, and wrung his hands. Perhaps this detention hadn't been as useless as he previously thought.

"That'll be all for today, boys. You can go."

They both blinked in surprise, and, whether intentionally, frowned at each other. "What?" said Weasley.

"Your detention is over." He waved his wand again, and the caudrons were banished back to their cupboard. "Off you go."

" _What_ _?_ "

"Didn't you hear me? It's over. You can go. I'm satisfied you've learnt your lesson." And Horace knew there would be a twinkle in his eye, the one that Minerva said often looked conspirative . "But if you want to stay and practice, feel free."

He paused, watching Weasley again. Horace frowned; there was something wrong with that boy, he knew quite well.

But what _was_ it?

The Weasley boy was perfectly polite, humble too - but Horace knew how he had been tricked before. How the surface-depth appearance had charmed him and everyone else, everyone but Dumbledore. Horace remembered how he had brushed off the old man's concerns like they were rumours, rather than grounded in personal experience.

And then, that night had happened. And Slughorn got a terrifying glimpse into the maniacal abyss that was Tom Riddle. He'd had that look in his eye too, a dark kind of hungry thing that seized your gaze when he let it.

Weasley wasn't quite like that, no. Too compassionate, Horace thought.

But there was still something wrong.

He wasn't going to let the opportunity to investigate something questionable pass him by a second time, so perhaps he would try harder to become one of Minerva's trusted confidants. He wanted to be part of the Hogwarts inner circle, where the softest, harshest secrets lay. Where Ron Weasley's lay, he was sure.

The funny thing was, Weasley stared at him then, like he knew exactly what he was thinking. And Horace smiled back easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doot. Thanks for reading, I think.
> 
> Thanks!
> 
> -Tea33 :)


	22. Halloween

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Twenty-Two: Halloween

Ron blinked, and it was like he'd fallen asleep for two months. It was now October: the leaves had blown on by, turning crisp before coloured before decaying into a pulpy mush, wet from the rain, and ice sprawled across the grounds every morning. The afternoon wasn't much warmer than the morning, and the golden autumn sun had vanished completely.

It was hardly October at that. Nearing the end, contrarily, which meant Halloween. Ron had always loved the holiday - sweets and spooky stories and pumpkin pasties. But that was before all of this... now, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it.

Darkness he was attuned to, and there was plenty of it on this night. There would be no sweets this year - they tasted far too sweet, so much so it made Ron cough and splutter on the resin-like consistency. Too gritty.

The weeks had flown by quickly, quick even for Ron who felt everything in slow-motion. Maybe he just hadn't noticed the temperature change because of the lack of feeling cold. Maybe he was too stuck in his head.

"Thanks again, Ron, for stopping that potion from exploding."

He blinked. Definitely in his head too much. Ron glanced up to see it was Neville, apologising again for his mistake, and he gave a half-hearted grin.

"It's all right, mate. And I think you can stop apologising now - it's been weeks."

Everyone else had forgotten about it too, although there was a lingering feeling of Ron's power. McGonagall had gotten off his case, as had the other teachers, content he had learnt not to do that type of thing anymore.

Still they would remind him frequently not to do anything strange, or above normality. Ron had to get his head down and learn to become content with this ordinary life of his, sidekick to his cleverer friends and approachable Gryffindor keeper.

Ron wished he could be content with it. He really did.

Neville still looked unsure, though, despite Ron's reassurances, and it struck Ron that perhaps he was still feeling thoroughly guilty about the whole ordeal. He was familiar with guilt. Knew it well as the solid lump that took up his stomach and sometimes seemed like the real, physical thing barring him from eating proper food.

So he cleared his throat, and Neville looked back over at him.

"It's not your fault, you know. It was just an honest mistake. Could've happened to anyone, really."

"Yeah, but it was me. It's always _me_." Now Neville looked worse, face twisted up with shame.

Ron hung back. What could he do? What _should_ he do?

He hadn't even been able to convince himself the guilt he felt so terribly was all right (because it _wasn't_ ) so how could he even attempt to sway Neville?

The other boy sensed his awkward expression, and made an apologetic gesture to the corner of the Gryffindor common room.

"Er, want to play chess?"

And that was how Ron found himself playing Neville in chess. It was roughly seven'o'clock, explosive Weasley products banging in the air and fanging frisbees flying about despite prefects trying to stop it. The rustling of parchment and loud conversation hung in the air, and Neville and Ron sat tucked away in a corner, Ron on an aged yellow chair while the other boy was perched on a cushioned red.

"Bishop to E3," he muttered.

Ron frowned as he tried to puzzle out how the hell he was going to pull a win out of this one, sighing as he realised Neville had backed all the best moves with his own pieces. Shit. "So, Neville, what's going on with you?"

"Not much, honestly." Neville looked confused at Ron's hesitation. "It's still your turn, Ron."

"I know." He frowned at the board, as thought waiting for something to happen. "I'm just thinking.

He thought harder, almost glared at the board in front of him, letting the noise of the room drop into his peripheral as he pondered deeply, let everything, _everything_ , drop away so he could focus... try and wrangle a win out of this impossible situation. He took a breath, and it was like sinking into another plane.

He'd let go.

Suddenly, Neville gasped in surprise, and pointed at his face.

"What?" said Ron, confused.

"Your eyes! They've gone red!"

He felt something shatter in the back of his mind. Something else shatter, something else break, until it felt like he was housing a library of broken glass in his head.

Oh _no_. Neville knew, Neville knew he was a _vampire_.

He was going to tell everyone, so then they would all know what he was. They would brandish runed weapons, lethal to him, and snarl in his face they were going to rip him apart like the monster he was.

Ron felt his heart sink all the way to the ground, and that shatter too.

He had to try first. Try- try and fix things - his lips raised in a half-smile which he dropped it fast, remembering the teeth; excuses prepared on his lips to explain away the odd occurrence-

_But how could he do that? Neville had seen, Neville knew, he was going to tell-_

"Very good, Ron," he said with a smile instead of, _"Vampire! Vampire, Ron's a dirty vampire, get him away from me, away, away!"_

"You're practising for Halloween, aren't you?" Neville asked Ron, who was still frozen. "Or was it just an accident, 'cause my hair turned blue in the Transfiguration OWL last year - thank Merlin they didn't take points off me for it, since it was just wayward magic and all. The instructor said it was nothing to worry about." He frowned. "Is everything all right, Ron? You look a bit worried."

"Oh-! It's, erm, it's nothing, Neville." He swallowed roughly, trying to squeeze some kind of moisture from his sandpaper-dry throat. "Yeah, um- it was a-an accident. Let me f-fix it-" _Merlin, stop get a hold of yourself._ He screwed his eyes shut, praying when they opened they would be blue. He blinked a few times at Neville. "Better?"

He nodded, slightly put-down for some reason. "Yeah, they're blue again. But you should've left them red," he said sagely, "it'd scare the first years all right. You should have them tomorrow."

Ron nodded in agreement and made a move, a haphazard one that resulted in a checkmate by Neville (bollocks).

But he didn't care. He was too concerned about how close he'd come to being revealed, how easily his glamour had slipped; he thanked every god out there it was near Halloween and anyone glancing across the room would think he were practising for tomorrow, when students moderated their appearances for the holiday (a pair of ears, third eye, feathers - there were hundreds) so anyone glancing across the room wouldn't think it was odd he was practising.

Still, it had been far, far too close a call for his liking.

Neville had shrugged off the moment already though, already saying, "Rook to C3. Ron, your move."

He blinked, still thinking. For all the times for it to come off, _chess_? Not in a fiery duel with Zabini, not beating back an explosive potion - _chess_. Deciding whether to move in one direction, or the other.

It was almost laughable. No, it _was_ laughable.

Ron couldn't have that happen again. Ever.

He wasn't _weak_.

He'd hoped that would be the end of the incident, but the next day it was brought up again.

So far the morning had been uneventful for Ron, after a short breakfast (he tried chocolate again, it didn't go well. He felt a bit sad about it still and Hermione suggested a blood-flavoured lollipop. It sounded good, but he just stared at her in shock) until he'd walked past Lavender, Neville, Dean and Seamus. Parvati and the seventh year she'd been going about with recently were stood nearby too, and it didn't escape Ron's notice how most of them had green hair or large ears of some other form of mutation.

Neville, a section of whom's hair was an alarming shade of purple stopped him as he walked by.

Ron hadn't done anything. Dressed as usual in his uniform and the sleeves rolled up. He had forgone a cloak, since it just got in the way.

"Hey! Ron!"

He turned, expression unguarded. "Hey, Neville. What's up?"

"Me and Lavender-" she turned, and Ron nearly jumped at her vibrant, shining pink eyes "-were talking about everyone's Halloween costume things, and um, well... I was surprised you weren't wearing yours."

Dean raised an eyebrow, the horns coming from his forehead drawing Ron's bemused attention away from his face. He shoved his hands in his pockets to cover the dread blossoming in his chest, because he had a feeling what Neville was going to say next.

"Let's see then, Ron," said Dean.

"I- I don't know-"

"Oh, come on, Ron," said Lavender, in a saccharine tone. She winked at him and Ron pulled a befuddled expression before he could even make sense of what she'd done. She didn't seem deterred in the slightest. "Why don't you show us? It's just a Halloween costume."

"It was pretty good, too," said Neville. "But, um, I guess you don't have to if you don't want to?"

Maybe he... could consider it? He could. It wouldn't do anything, it was all a costume. Fake. He'd still be just as human, just with red eyes.

And the glamour coming off... his chest leapt at the thought. As necessary as it was, it was still suffocating sometimes. Like being covered in a thick, dusty cloak. It made his eyes itch and his skin crawl at first, but he'd gotten used to it over time.

Howver, it would be nice to escape, to pretend, for a night.

Just once.

His mouth stretched into a wide grin. "Okay," he said, and, feeling like every poster warning about the effects of peer pressure, did exactly what the rest of the group told him to.

He muttered something incomprehensible under his breath (the way he wanted it, so it sounded like he was muttering the spell to change his eyes when in reality he was removing his glamour), and felt it lifting off him.

He blinked, and the fellow sixth years around him burst into applause.

"Blimey they're good, Ron," said Dean, peering at him with intrigue. "They almost look real."

He smiled, and took it in stride (hiding the panic, panic, panic _but why_? Underneath). "Thanks, Dean. I practised."

Not wearing a glamour was like a breath of fresh air.

He still had to keep it on his neck and teeth, though, as the longer incisors that created the two neat puncture holes vampires were so famous for would be a dead giveaway to what he was.

Ron knew. He'd only seen them on human skin once, barring his own: in the forest, with that girl. She had been gone anyway, at the point when he lowered his lips to the pale expanse of flesh against every scream in his head but the thirst.

He'd marked her like that, unable to turn away for the iron-grip of the bloodlust, and made it that much worse. He stole her blood, and her remains were burnt and scattered.

He didn't think he'd ever forgive himself for slipping with the knife that night. She could've walked away alive and healthy. And here he was, fooling about at school with his funny glowing eyes, all part of his costume.

This silly, untrue human costume he wore so he wasn't killed. Like a wolf wearing a sheep's skin, except in this case, the sheep were more deadly to him than he was to them.

Ron still didn't really know what he was doing. He hardly knew how to not get himself into trouble, how to adjust with these new rules - he just didn't fit in. He thought it was clear to see from a mile away, but people just kept missing it.

He didn't fit in. He didn't and it left a bad taste in his mouth that sometimes he thought he did, and that no one could even tell the difference.

A hand was suddenly brushing the side of his face, and his arm clanked up almost robotically to clench it, make it stop.

Lavender paused, a foot away from his face.

"Oh," she said softly, and he saw the way the light reflected in her eyes. Made the speckles stand out like jewels, but they were the wrong colour.

Pink. Ron didn't like them on her, didn't like her normal eye colour, didn't like the way the light hit them; Hermione had deeper, richer eyes, in his opinion, if irises had any money. "I'm- I'm sorry, just... they look so realistic..." she nearly swiped a finger across his cheek, just underneath his eye, but Ron edged backwards in time. He pushed her back again.

Her face almost matched her eyes on account of how pink they were, and she let out a breathless, "Goodbye, Ron," before giggling and going to join Parvati, who nodded at her before they both set off for their next lesson, presumably.

Seamus whistled lowly. "Wow," he remarked, after Lavender had gone some distance down the corridor. "I'm pretty sure she likes you, Ron."

He frowned. "Yeah, I... know," he muttered, surprised to hear the truth. But it was that - truth.

"And you haven't done anything about it yet?"

Dean swatted his best friend on the back of the head.

Seamus turned. "What?"  
Dean gave him a look. "What if he doesn't like her."

Recognition flashed in his eyes as Seamus blinked dumbly. "Oh, yeah." He turned to Ron, as did Dean. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Do you like her?"  
"Er, no. Not particularly."

Dean nodded approvingly. "I told you so."  
"Shut up," said Seamus darkly. "Don't act all class with girls when I know what's going on with Ginny and you."

Ron frowned, suddenly pulled out of his thoughts. "What's that about my sister?" he said.

"Nothing," said Dean quickly, and Ron gave him a murderous look. He was quite capable at it, considering his still red eyes.

He glanced around the empty corridor, caught a furry of movement in his peripheral. But Dean and Seamus were talking again, so he ignored it.

"I said I wasn't like that, Seamus, there's no use asking me-"

"Don't lie to yourself, we both-"

"What do I do?" Ron cut in, interrupting them but quite honestly, he wasn't particularly concerned.

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. But, you better figure it out, 'cause she likes you."

Ron pressed his lips together as Seamus and Dean wandered off, shoulders brushing slightly as they went off down the corridor together, in the direction of Parvati and Lavender.

Ron turned and saw Hermione waiting at the end of the corridor, books held in her grip so tightly it looked like they were going to topple onto the floor. Her hands were clenched white around the their spines, and she had an unreadable expression on her face. She looked frozen in place other than her heart, which was thundering along at a few hundred miles per hour, Ron could hear.

"Hermione-!" He tried to call out, but she had already turned and gone.

* * *

Lessons were awkward after that and Ron wasn't quite sure why. He wanted to talk to her about the Halloween feast that night but she turned to the other side of her desk so all Ron could see was a mound of her frizzy hair.

He frowned. "Hermione?"

She shushed him. _Shushed him_ , like it was first year and he still hated her for being a know-it-all. Thoroughly confused, Ron turned to the opposite side of his desk and begun completing his essay on top of a book, muddling through the answers.

It wasn't a surprise when he got a few more wrong that usual; he'd been awfully distracted.

The rest of the day followed in that pattern until the final bell tolled, and Hermione was out of the classroom faster than the dust could clear behind her. Her chair was still wobbling from how fast and precariously she'd shoved it under the desk, books and papers skewiff from the way they'd been unceremoniously tipped into her school satchel.

Ron had been left standing there with his jaw gaping open, left soundless at the (in his opinion) harsh treatment he'd been facing all afternoon.

He could remember the high blush grazing her cheekbones, turning the sun-kissed freckles rosy, sparking fire into the golden brown irises he liked to look at so much - and he could stop describing her face now - and wondered how it got there. Why she looked _angry_ , almost unmistakeably so.

He wasn't going to go and chase her down when she clearly didn't want to see him, so instead he decided to seek out someone who might know what was going on, someone who she might have confided in between what happened earlier on, and now.

The banquet and come and gone, and at that Hermione had sat at her empty plate with a blank look on her face. Harry had tried to make conversation between the two, but it was a difficult affair; Ron was gloomy, Hermione was vehement and Harry ended up talking to Neville most of the night and doing challenges with pepper imps with the other Gryffindors.

Ron, to the dismay of the other sixth years, hadn't kept his 'costume' on.

He just couldn't. Not when he was supposed to be giving this 'discreet student' thing a shot. How he had mostly been swept under the radar quite a bit over the years escaped his own expertise.

Conversation in the hall had calmed down in the sense it wasn't so focused on the duelling drama anymore, when the next scandal happened (apparently a seventh year and a teacher had been caught snogging behind the greenhouses, but without a shred of proof only the most potent of gosspipers were able to spread it successfully); however, there were still some whispers flying around.

Stupid ones.

"Yeah, they can both duel, but which one would you rather snog."

The other person in the conversation Ron was eavesdropping on sighed. Debated for a moment what they would respond with. "I'm not sure," they said. "Blaise's got that whole cool Slytherin look going for him, and Ron's got the warm, slightly dopey Gryffindor thing. Don't know which I prefer."

Oi, he wasn't dopey, Ron wanted to retort back, but obviously couldn't. Nevermind they were a whole table away. He listened again, and:

"What else do you think they have to offer?"

Ron turned away, shutting off his hearing reach at once. He'd heard enough of the various people lusting after him, thanks very much. Zabini, the lucky bastard, didn't have sensitive ears and so could avoid most of this completely.

His rise in popularity, if that was fair to say, had come shortly after the duel with Zabini. It had begun with people complimenting his skills, and then... this.

They were doing it to Zabini too, though, but as a somewhat more approachable Gryffindor (and the one without a stark blood prejudice) he thought he might be getting the brunt of it.  
Although him and Zabini weren't fighting anymore, they weren't quite friends either. Frenemies, perhaps, willing to put things aside for the sake of it just not being worth it.

Look at the world around them. The headlines of the newspapers, the missing seats of students whose parents didn't want them coming back even this year. There were more important things going on.

So they weren't friends, but it was progress. Acquaintances who still duelled occasionally on account of them being best in year (seventh year were pretty shit, so maybe out of the whole school).

Ron gazed back across the table to where Hermione sat almost mournfully. He'd asked Harry, and all he'd said in exasperation was: "Look, mate, if you _really_ can't see it, then it's not my place to tell you. Really. Go and ask Hermione if you're so interested," before walking away, and Ron was left with an odd feeling blossoming in his chest.

Suspicion. That (and because he liked to believe he wasn't as stupid as quite a few people thought he was) those feelings he'd been having weren't one-sided.

"Hermione?"

She turned, and this time there was a slight smile on her lips. They were in the library, sat where no one could hear them (he didn't need more people in his business). "Yes, Ron?"

Had- had he been imagining everything before? Ron was completely confused, so she slid closer to him. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry," she began, faltering slightly.

"But what is it? Why are you sorry?" He scanned her face quickly, checked her heartbeat (normal). "Wasn't I the one that did something wrong?"

"No," she said quietly. "It was just me being silly. You're perfectly entitled to do what you want."

Ron frowned. "What?"

She waved a hand somewhere in his direction. "Never mind, but let's be friends again. Lessons have been boring; I forgot what it was like having no friends."

Ron smiled, but there was a strange pull, odd sinking feeling in his stomach still. All the gaps hadn't been filled in here, hang on, it seemed to be saying, but he still smiled on anyway. "Friends."

Ron felt like smiling again and so he did, sticking out a hand in commiseration. Hermione took it, beaming too like the past few days hadn't happened, both of them so preoccupied in their own thoughts they didn't realise the handshake was going on longer than it should have done.

Hermione's hands were warm, and he could see ink spots on her fingers.

The moment passed, and their hands retracted.

He glanced outside, and saw the twinkling lights of Hogsmeade in the distance - just peeking over the mountains. He could swear he hadn't been able to before, but there was the sight for you.

The sight. Able to magnetise and draw in on details like a fish to a hook; it hadn't faulted Ron once yet.

He thought he might understand why, now, Hermione had been avoiding him.

Ron thought of something. What if she liked him back? They got on well, why not?

Except, they couldn't be together. Not properly. There were too many issues: Ron's lack of control, his immortality, the laws on vampires. Him, essentially. He was the issue in the faux relationship between the two of them.

Things were different, and yet the same between the two of them. Familiar.

He looked at Hermione again, and something swooped and swayed in his chest like a great, crimson dragon. The softest grin came across his face, and then Ron felt guilty.

That wasn't a new feeling. If he was honest it had always been there, growing in earnest once he started realising things. Like attraction.

Yes. He liked her. Had liked her, and still did.

Couldn't do anything about it, though.

The feeling made his chest warm and his mind sing. He could listen to Hermione talk for hours, debate with her about house elves and homework and she'd even listen to him about Quidditch, and it felt like everything was right in the world.

Over-dramatic, maybe, but he was sixteen.

Seamus' words came back to him. _Do you like her?_

He went back to the hallway, looked at Lavender, and felt nothing. _No._

_That's the wrong girl for you, then._

He wouldn't answer for Hermione, not to the voice in his mind that sounded oddly like Seamus.

He looked at Hermione, and his chest, his heart, was soaring again although it stood still.

He saw Harry, sitting across the table and talking animatedly to Ginny.

_"Can you really not see it?"_

He hadn't then, but maybe he did now. He looked at Hermione and his mind dissected the caramel-brown eyes, lightly bronzed skin, and hair flying in every direction. She had her book out on the table, and her ink-spotted hands were tracing words across the page. Freckles lined her cheeks, and Ron felt more soaring in his chest.

He could see it now.

Something was flashing at him insistently.

But, they couldn't be together because... reasons. Very good reasons.

Ron felt like the applause from him stopping that exploding cauldron in potions meant less since McGonagall's reprimandation, like a bucket of water had been thrown over him, the cold damp spreading through his chest like mold until he couldn't bear the praise. It reminded him of what he couldn't be, that what everyone else was seeing was a lie.

It hurt. But it was a necessary pain; it opened him back up to the realisation that, as a dark creature, he was not worth what everyone else was.

 _He couldn't be with Hermione_.

If he did something good he would get the blame. His friends could turn on him in a moment's notice. The Ministry could march through the doors, and drag him away kicking and screaming.

He could turn Hermione into a... vampire, which was odd to even consider - however, Ron was already drowning under the weight of the guilt, and the cold water that brought him the realisations and flowed through his veins since he was turned.

He could never do that to another person. And just knowing Hermione, he knows it isn't something she would ever choose given the chance. Like Ron would have, except obviously he didn't _get_ the choice.

So, they would never work out. Surprise, surprise.

Ron sighed, and looked back at Hogsmeade again. A certain silver sparkle twinkled at him, beckoning him to go and check it out... check out the lights in the city, so to speak.

It was flashing rather insistently at him, and Ron frowned. Was something... wrong?

He shook his head. Turned away. No, there was nothing wrong, of course there wasn't. It was just a faulty light, they'll fix it eventually. A reflection.

In Hogsmeade, the light kept blinking until the girl gave up, dropping her arm with a sigh.

She wouldn't get another chance today. Tucking the shard of mirror back under a crack in the wall, she glanced up at the sun in sadness.

It was sinking behind a muddle of clouds, and wouldn't be visible anymore behind the clotted darkness. She'd just used up the last beam of strengthened light from the sun before it gave up completely.

Her head thudded back against the concrete. This had gone on too long. She didn't do so well in isolation, despite her nature.

She could hear the leaves rustling on the outside of the building, the wind whistling past, and wondered what she'd have been doing if she weren't in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Wondered what she would have done if she hadn't run into the wrong stranger.

* * *

Ron was almost in the hall before a hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder, tugging him roughly into an alcove. He spun round, eyes (blue, still blue, had to keep them blue) widened and his wand in hand, holding it out straight and ready to curse whoever this joker was to hell and back-

"Merlin, Ron! Calm down!"

It was Katie Bell, her expression terrified as his wand jutted underneath her chin; Ginny forced her way over and smacked it away. She scowled at him fiercely.

"Calm down, you dunce. We're not trying to kidnap you. We're just waiting for Harry - we were all going to walk into the Great Hall as a team, remember? Seems like you forgot we were meeting in here."

A boy Ron vaguely remembered as Ritchie Coote, who had taken over Fred's position nodded, jerking out of the way to avoid a spider swinging down on a string of silver.

"Yeah." His voice was higher than Ron would have first pinned it as being, but there was that spider was edging ever closer. "But I don't see the point if we end up walking in looking like some kind of giant ball of dust-"

"It'll be fine," Ginny reminded him hastily. Demelza Robins rolled her eyes and shifted to the side just an inch, knocking into Jimmy Peakes, the other beater. It really was quite small in here.

"Shush- here he comes!" She seemed oddly excited, and Ron turned. Harry was walking in the direction of the Great Hall, uniform splayed out in bright colours of gold and red, 'POTTER' written on the back in blinding boldness. At the last second he cut out of the way, ducking into the side, and, after a shuffle from Ginny, into the alcove.

He grinned into the darkness, at Ginny. "Everyone here?"

"Yep," replied Ginny, who seemed to be angling for vice captain - or something that would explain her sucking up to the captain so much. Seriously, she'd been doing it for weeks, and Harry returned the sentiment.

Ron shook his head witheringly; or tried to until he nearly smashed into Ritchie Coote.

"Good."

"Ron forgot."

"I'm not surprised, mate, you're distracted with all that Hermione stuff going on." Harry directed this at Ron, who at that moment wished the Earth would swallow him up. No one else appeared particularly surprised, however.

"Snap out of it for the game today though, or there'll be hell to pay. To me."

"It's fine, I've sorted it out now," he replied and Ginny looked happy. "Good."

"Can we get out of here now?" said Demelza. "I'm going to sneeze if we stay in here any longer."

Katie held up her hand in commiseration, nearly missing the ceiling and yet another spider with a jet-black body. "I second that."

"Yeah, yeah, let's go."

Harry fronted the group as they walked into the Great Hall together, in a... cool way. Someone from Hufflepuff wolf-whistled at the team, looking admittedly very organised and hopefully very intimidating in their formation.

The Slytherin team were all sat on a bench together on the opposite side of the hall, all immaculate. (Ron thanked hell Katie siphoned off the dust with a spell before they walked in, otherwise they would've looked like _idiots_ ) with sneers on their faces. The Slytherin table started booing them, but the team in red still took their seats like they owned the place.

They basically did. They were winning this year, thanks to the team's fantastic skills.

Seamus was shaking his fist angrily at Zabini, sat on the end and head turned in the direction of the Gryffindor table. He was smirking.

Ron sat down and folded his arms atop the table. "Very good fist-shaking, Seamus. Have you been practising?"

He nodded. "I have," he remarked, tone crisp. "I do it a lot. You ever noticed how long the showers I take are?"

Ron had to hide his snort behind a sudden cough.

Harry picked up a piece of toast and checked the watch on his wrist. "All right, team, half an hour till kickoff... everyone have breakfast, I don't want anyone fainting on the pitch."

Even Ron made the effort to pick up the cereal that was lightest. It stuck to his insides, but left his throat a little less clumpy. And with enough water to get it down, it tasted all right. One of the unfortunate downsides to his condition, but there were many positives. Sight. Hearing. Healing.

He wasn't sure where sleeping fit in that. Was that something he was supposed to be able to do, or not? Not for the first time Ron wished he wasn't the only one of his kind around - not Mordecai, no... another vampire, someone... good.

He stretched his arms, and felt the hard casing of his keepers outfit stretched across his shoulders. Pointless other than to maintain the lie. Getting hurt would be bad though, because how could he explain the fast healing?

It was fine. As keeper he was far away from the rest of the match, like McGonagall said.

_But he still interacted with the players._

Before he knew it the game was beginning after a warm up and short speech from Harry, with a shrill whistle from Madam Hooch, the usual spiel reminding everyone about a fair match (like that was going to happen with Slytherin versus Gryffindor) still rumbling round his head.

He was pleased to see that it was their team who got the quaffle first, Katie snatching it with ease and swooping in the direction of the Slytherin hoops. He had to give her credit - she didn't flinch even once, despite the ferocious winds making today's match a full-on battle.

They were still going to win. The stands were packed supporters, red and green alike; from here Ron could make out Luna Lovegood's impressive lion hat snarling at the breeze and smirked.

They were going to win, especially with the team they had. A pretty damn good one.

Katie passed to Ginny, and back again; one of the Slytherin beaters readied their bat to strike a jet-black bludger; Ron could hear it whistling already through the wind, milliseconds ahead of the rest of them.

"GINNY!" he bellowed down the pitch, and she half-turned in the air, quaffle now back under her arm. He gestured wildly to the side of her, where the Slytherin beater sat waiting.

She nodded at him, and loop-the-looped out of the way. Unstoppable, the beater hit the bludger anyway, and it went swirling off into the distance.

The Slytherin team looked mutinous at their own member, who had missed by miles.

The Gryffindor crowd cheered, red-painted cheeks quirked with a smile - until a Slytherin chaser crashed full-tilt into Ginny, and she nearly fell off entirely. She clutched her arm close to her chest, like it was injured. She swept after him, face determined, but he was already rocketing up the pitch.

Ron steadied himself, waiting, waiting... the quaffle was passed as the chaser was cut off and the ball continued its rise up the pitch... Ron steadied himself again, flexed his fingers in the gloves, eyes tracking each and every movement - the Slytherin threw the ball, shot on target to sail through the top left hoop... and there was Ron, arms outstretched - his fingers scraped along the edge of the leather, he'd missed it, he'd missed, it was going so fast-

He stretched a little more, and the ball was caught a mere few centimetres away from the hoop.

He'd _saved it._

The crowd went wild; Slytherin booed and Gryffindor shouted, and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff fell somewhere in between.

Ron grinned and threw the quaffle over to the opposite team, where they would restart in the centre of the pitch.

Not five minutes later, and Ginny had scored.

He could tell this was going to be a good one - and he would be right.

* * *

Ron saw it again that day.

The blinking silver light he'd put off as a reflection a day or so before.

The sun had come out behind the clouds and was boosting a heavy beam onto them - somewhat unusual for the time of year. It was winter now, and the nights longer than the days.

They'd all been walking out of the changing rooms together, the match a success and everyone tired from the strenuous activity. Apart from Ron. He was still ready and raring to go, if he was honest.

All of the Quidditch matches had been fine so far, and he was hoping to keep that up. Hopefully, nothing would soon go wrong.

He'd been stretching slightly, twisting his neck back to get out some of the stiffness and he'd seen it again. A flashing light, silver in the daylight and a small speck of blinding light. It curved and wobbled, not quite flashing but flickering.

Not anything a faulty lamp would give off... it almost looked human, frail, the way the light bobbed like that...

Ron shook his head, and the light was gone.

The sun had gone back behind the clouds again.

No one else had seen it. Maybe it was something only he could see, with the strength impended on him by the curse.

It was probably nothing. No - it _was_ nothing.

He turned around to join the rest of the group again, and put it down to a trick of the light.

_Again_ _?_

So Ron didn't put it completely out of his mind. Tried to keep it around for a while, but soon it slipped until he only remembered deep into his attempts at sleep and forgot it once again.

Besides, it was probably just a trick of the light, right?  
Probably, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

The light begun to dance again in the distance as the sun came back from behind the clouds.

And then, it was extinguished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter I upload will be on Christmas day. My present to you guys for sticking with me on this story. Also, I think it'd cool lol.
> 
> And I know things are going slow. But soon, guys, soon. Mostly.
> 
> Thanks for reading,
> 
> Tea33 :)


	23. Close Calls

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Twenty-Three: Close Calls

"Rictumsempr- MERLIN!"

Ron jerked upright from his bed and sat up blinking, one hand still firmly clutching his wand. He'd just been practising some simple reflective charms, designed to bounce the spell back at the caster; he suddenly caught sight of a foot twitching near the ceiling, and laughed out loud loud before he could think about it.

The laughter turned into unstoppable snorts as Ron staggered up to see Harry's hands scrabbling downward in the air toward the bed where a book lay on the cover, his ankle stuck firmly in midair. Completely upside down, his hair flopped all over his face and it was pretty fucking hilarious.

The fire roared in the centre of the dorm, combatting the cold drifting in as snow plastered itself heavily to the grounds and to the windows. All they could see from here was a curtain of white covering the world.

Ron wasn't surprised - the weeks had flown by, the end of term, his solace, edged ever closer.

He was still having some trouble doing the right thing. He wasn't sure why, it was just difficult. The glamours were beginning to itch to no end, he hated wearing a stupid, clunky ring, and the thirst while around so many people, so many _humans_ , was getting to be unbearable.

That, and he still couldn't sleep.

But things were all right for the moment.

Fine.

The rest of the dorm were waking up now, muffled groans coming from under the duvets of the other beds, and Ron choked on more air, coming over to stand by Harry's bed.

"What was that?" he eventually got out, amid more snickers. "Did you try and- were you going to do that to _me_?"

Harry stopped flailing looked at him, then back at the book with his mouth agape. "I didn't know what it would do! And- _yes,_ all right? I wouldn't have been trying to curse myself, would I?"

Dean caught sight of him and began laughing, pointing and crowing at him. Seamus started guffawing after crawling out of bed and joining his side. Loud snores were still coming from Neville's bed, the dark red curtains closed around it.

Ron grinned back at the other two, ignoring the sudden jolt of thirst (would he have time to get something before the game?) Before releasing a low whistle. "So you were trying spells out from the book again? Hermione won't be pleased."

"She's not my mother," Harry replied savagely, and went back to scrabbling for the book.

Ron snorted again and shook his head at him. As suspicious he thought the book was, and the name the previous owner pretentious, it... didn't seem too harmful. Just potion tips, and a few helpful spells. So far, at least.

Despite this Ron was still wary, and told Harry as much, who didn't particularly listen; he was also still watching Malfoy (who looked more ragged each day that passed) on the map, regardless of Ron's frequent attempts to pull him away from it. Harry was just convinced something was going on, maybe overcompensating for when he missed something last year and Sirius died. That was what Hermione called it.

And he'd offered more than enough things to do - Quidditch, visiting Dobby, snap with Hermione... (because who would turn that down) but nothing seemed to work. He hadn't looked at it for a few days as far as Ron knew, though, so at least they were getting somewhere.

Term was ending. It should've made Ron feel better, but it didn't. Instead it felt like something was drawing ever closer, like an approaching hurricane, and Ron didn't know what to do about it, because really, although he didn't know what it was or how he could stop it-

The feeling _terrified_ him.

_Get over yourself._

Ron tossed the book up at Harry who caught it easily (seeker's reflexes) and thumbed through the pages until he found a particularly worn one. He closed his eyes and whispered something; a second later he crashed back down onto the bed in a tangle of the velvet curtains he'd caught on the way down, and Ron heard a sigh come from the heap of limbs and material.

He walked over and held out his hand. "All right, mate?"

Another hand stuck through the wreckage to hang onto his, and Harry emerged not a second later, sighing heavily. "Yeah... fine."

His glasses were thoroughly lopsided, and Ron gave another weak snort.

"What spell was that?"

Harry shrugged. "No clue, really. But I... no, I've seen someone use it before."

Ron wasn't even going to ask at his friend's suddenly wistful expression, so instead he sat down on the bed beside him. "Don't try and hex me again while I'm practising protective spells around my bed," he said, and Harry nodded ruefully.

"I know that now."

"Might just bounce back at you."

Harry gave him a look, and in the background Seamus and Dean begun a pillow fight.

Ron leaned back on Harry's bed, to stare at the crumpled curtains hanging half onto the floor. "So, Quidditch? Get in a bit of practise before the match today?"

Harry nodded, green gaze blazing despite the way he was holding his back like it had snapped in two. "You're on." He coughed. "Just gimme a minute... Jesus, that hurt."

Ron nodded at his wincing friend, and went to collect his robes.

* * *

They stood out on the pitch with snow blowing in every direction around them, the mid-December weather making this Quidditch match out to be a very difficult one. Beside him, Harry's breaths came out in white clouds.

Ron huffed, and his own spiral of wispy smoke drifted up in front of him. More white blotches gathered on the floor, the grounds surrounding them. The sky was the same snowy hue - a marbled, blotchy white. Their Quidditch outfits stood out like smears of blood on the pitch.

At least Ravenclaw looked good with the silver and blue. The snow in the back made them look like jewels in the foggy sunlight and twisting wind.

Today was the last match of the season, since next week they would be going home. Ron forced himself to take in another breath, and chug it out again; Ron saw this time the fog was even lighter.

He glanced around at the spectators in the stands, all huddled and shivering in coats. A snowman in what Ron assumed as a cruel imitation of Snape with rotting sticks for hair, an enormous carrot for a nose and draped like a bat in a thick cloak stood near the Gryffindor stands. He glanced at Hagrid, who nodded him.

They'd been round for a few weekend visits, where they still made attempts to eat rock cakes and boiling hot tea even after all these years.

Not Ron, though. Hagrid knew he was a vampire so he was let off the hook.

"I'm pretty jealous, actually," Harry told him at a later date, and Ron scoffed at him.

They'd talked about it on the very first visit, when Harry and Hermione had food placed in front of them and Ron didn't.

He nodded at him, dark flint-coloured eyes set behind a wiry bush of hair. "I know what yer are, Ron, o' course," he said, sitting back in his patched, crimson armchair. "Now then, I don't usually like yer lot too often, but... this is a bit've a tricky situation. You don' want no tea, do yeh?"

Ron felt a bit unsteady, like his insides were liable to slip out. This was weird. "Er. Water's fine, if you have it-"

He sorted. "'Course I 'ave it, Ron. Don' feel so awkward around me, I've known a few decent vampires in my time, and I can add you ter the list. 'S all right." His gaze slipped into something sorrowful. "I am sorry for what yeh 'ad to go through, though. When Tonks told me it... didn' sound good."

He shrugged. "...It wasn't. And thanks, Hagrid."

The man beamed.

Then Harry had turned the conversation into the easier territory of who would win the Quidditch cup, (them, obviously) and Hermione bit into her rock cake after she forgot about how they could crack your teeth.

"Nice, isn' it?" Hagrid said cheefully as she chewed slowly, eyes widening as she begun to regret all her decisions that lead up to this point. "Improved the recipe over the summer, o' course."

Poor Hermione. As they walked back Ron had watched her, cold turning her cheeks a flushed red and flakes of snow landing in her hair.

He'd smiled faintly, and reminded himself again that could never do anything about it.

Harry always had this stupid fucking grin on his face like he knew exactly what Ron was thinking.

They were stood in a row, preparing for the warmup and Harry blew out a line of smoke again. Ron looked to his line of sight where he was watching the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams with a bit of a... wistful expression on his face.

"You don't still have a thing for Chang, do you?" asked Ron curiously, and watched a bemused expression spread over Harry's face.

"No. Not since things went horribly wrong in Madam Puddifoot's." Harry was still watching them.

Ron looked over and saw his sister speaking animatedly with a Ravenclaw chaser. "And she feels the same way?"

Harry nodded. "We've both completely forgotten about each other. She's gone and dated Davies, and I've-" he cut off quickly, face turning a sudden, rash red in the cold.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "And you've what? You're not seeing anyone, are you?"

"No! No, I'm not."

"Then what?" asked Ron, suspicion threading into his tone.

"D'you have your eye on someone?"

"N-no-" said Harry, looking everywhere but at Ron. His gaze landed on the team squabbling a few feet away; Ginny and the chaser were still speaking; it was Carrie or something, wasn't it?

"Okay, mate, fine. Don't tell me - I'll just have to figure it out instead." Harry paled slightly and Ron crossed his arms.

"It's not like you don't have your own secrets!" Harry snapped. "Merlin, Ron, I'm not blind."

"What?" Now Ron felt a bit haughty. "There's... nothing going on with me and Her- no one. Nothing's going on with anyone."

Harry sighed. Gave him a raised eyebrow. "Look at us two. Useless at lying. I won't do anything if you don't, all right?"

"All right." Ron shot a skeptical glance at him. "But who is it that's got you all in a twist?"

"You don't want to know."

Ron frowned. "Are they in our year? Gryffindor?"

"I- I'm not saying yes or no. I'm not saying anything!"

"It's not Parvati, is it? Lavender?"

"No, Lavender's taken with you. That's not yours, right?"

Ron shook his head brusquely. "No, definitely not. But I think she likes me."

"Ah." Harry shook his head too. "Better shut that down before it gets too awkward, especially because you like H- that- whoever it is you like."

"Okay. I was going to anyway - she keeps _winking_ at me."

Harry chortled as Ron shook his head bitterly. "Maybe you should just get with whoever it is you like, to make the process a bit easier. She'll get the message you're not interested and you can go out with whoever it is you want to. It's not a guy, is it? 'Cause I'd have way more guesses then-"

"Nah." Ron said. He stared out at the cold. "Is yours a...?" he asked, looking back at his friend.

Harry shook his head, eyebrow drawn. "No. So... why haven't you said anything to yours?"

"I... can't, really - she's not like me. Y'know." He waved his arm, to mean vampirism. Harry got it.

"Well, that really narrows it down," Harry muttered. "And why should that stop you?"

Ron have him a look which clearly read, 'are you mad'? "For pretty obvious reasons, mate. She wouldn't want to date someone like me. And besides, we're just friends."

"Same with mine," noted Harry dully.

They both sighed, before Ron shot him a reproachful stare. "Maybe we should start a club just for lonely people."

"I'm not lonely," said Harry immediately. "I just- I never even _tried_ , to be honest."

"Maybe you should."

"Maybe _you_ should."

Silence hung in the air for about half a minute, both of them resolutely staring at each other with crossed arms, before Harry sighed again and strode towards the rest of the team. Ron followed.

"All right. Showtime, people."

* * *

Halfway through the match, something went wrong.

Terribly wrong for Ron, only mildly wrong for everyone _not_ a vampire.

Carrie Jepson, the Ravenclaw seeker Ginny had been talking with twisted too hard into a spin, and, in colliding with two other people, a quaffle and a bludger her arm was snapped clean in two.

It was a clean break. Ron knew well enough; he heard it the moment the bone was strained too hard, bent too far and fractured, like a proper, frighteningly clear _snap_.

Then she began to scream, and Ron, nearby anyway flew over before he could think about it. The blood hit him like a punch to the gut, deflating his lungs and broke every one of his bones into a thousand pieces. He gulped in the cold air like a starving man, trying his best to breathe through the pain, and forgot that was precisely the thing he was trying to avoid.

Again it was like the pain collapsed in on itself, and the crawling and itching tearing his eyes and brain apart was suddenly gone, leaving an eerie focus and concentration behind.

He felt like he couldn't move - until he could, and then he couldn't move fast enough. He swayed on the broom until he was clawing at it, hands scrabbled on the wood like gnarled spiders and itching to throw himself closer to where Carrie Jepson's arm was now bleeding profusely, and sticking out at a jarringly wrong angle. Her gloves were drenched with scarlet, her dark blue robes bloody.

The entire game had stalled to watch Carrie as she screamed in pain.

Blood permeated through the air and Ron nearly snapped his broom in half he was that hungry for it. It never mattered how hungry he was when he before he smelt blood; it threatened his existence as a tame sidekick anyway.

Ron could feel his glamour slipping as the hunger took power. He tightened it again, and screwed his eyes shut against the painful call of the blood.

Harry glanced over from the other side of the pitch, and paled at the sight of Ron. He rocketed over.

His throat was shards of ice, the scent of the blood trickling over it like a quaint stream; it ran like paint thinner, stripping open the fibres of his throat until there was nothing left but raw pain and hunger, an insatiable one that took him apart piece by piece by how unforgiving it was. Every time he felt the hunger, it was like it was the first time.

How's he supposed to last an eternity like this?

Is this what every vampire has to put up with?

_Maybe it's just you. Maybe you're the one that can't learn control, that won't._

_You're a liability to us all, Ron._

He stared in blank space and people were talking to him, and Harry was suddenly tugging at his arm. McGonagall stood up in the stands, the crowds upon crowds of students that had turned out to see the game unaware of what was truly happening.

"Mate, mate, please can you just like- fucking _talk_ -"

Harry's voice was lost as Ron heard the clean snap of bone again and again in his head, the severing of ligaments, the gushing of blood. He head it clang in his head again and again like an insistent bell.

He smelt the blood, felt it tracing a line down to his stomach, down to the guilt-

He had to get out of here. Now. Before he marked another person with gimmicky puncture marks - his second victim.

He could deal with a papercut - the only thing he'd been exposed to all term. But not a broken arm, not when he was hungry and the blood spilling from the injury was just-

Finally Ron tore his gaze (achingly, so achingly; it hurt more than Carrie Jepson's arm did, of wich he could feel more than hear the nerves vibrating and sparking like gunpowder with a fiery pain, it all sounding _delicious_ to him) away from her, stained in blood, and to Harry. And the emptiness he saw reflected back in his best friend's widened eyes scorched the caverns of his own empty soul.

His mind was on one track, and his friend needed to snap him out of it. But Ron could smell Harry's own blood, tangy and sweet coursing along the ateries sprawling like rives of a map across of his neck, and down his spine, and he knew he didn't have long before he did something that was irreversible.

"Hurt me," he hissed raggedly, voice scratching like a needle skidded across the surface of a record, and thankfully Harry got the message. With a discreet wave of his wand, up his sleeve to avoid suspicion that uttered the sensation of a plug being pulled free from Ron's nose.

Red trickled down a second later, and it blurred his senses. Suddenly he was drowning in his own blood like it was thick copper mud, nose and mouth submerged and gravity pulling and pulling and pulling-

"Ron! Your nose!" Cho Chang exclaimed, still holding onto Carrie Jepson, who'd gone oddly despondent- he couldn't think about that, _no_ -

He held onto his nose, fingers squishing the murky red that was disgusting, revolting to him. He couldn't stand his own blood when the better stuff was _right there_ \- maybe no one would mind so much, it's one less... one less...

Ron gasped like he'd been pulled up from that deep submersion. Holy fuck - he needed to get out of here, right now.

He flew down to the ground, broom clattering to the side and sprinted up to the castle with his steadily thickening nosebleed weighing him down, and a screaming in his head that what he needed, _was back there, it was back there, he needed to turn back, it was right there-_

_TURN BACK! NO, TURN BACK! YOU HAVE TO TURN BACK!_

Ron felt like screaming as his own mind and desires rebelled against him, and made his steps judder as he flew through the hallways, eventually ending up in an empty room where he could shut the door firmly behind him, spell it just in case, and calm down again.

Outside, he could still hear bone singing, screaming, the snap of Carrie Jepson's arm as it rang through a cavernously empty Quidditch pitch. He fell to the floor in a painful tumble, the beconing maelstrom of taunting pain and pleasure too great to stare directly into; his eyes slammed shut, and his arms were sprawled around his crumpled frame as he breathed too much, not enough - anything to get rid of the smell.

He'd never be able to look her directly in the eye again after today.

* * *

He came to himself again Merlin knows how long later.

The blood was gone, the pain ebbed away, the emptiness spurned away. All he could smell was stringy spiderweb and clotted dust, and he stood still for a moment. He steadied his hands against the broken floorboards, pressing down harder until he snapped off an edge.

Whatever. He kicked the wood splinters across the floor, watching them disappear into the gloom, and sucked in a few more breaths of the dusty air. It was good, a cloying thickness that covered the hunger and smothered it into nothingness.

He was calm, now. The nosebleed had stopped what seemed centuries ago, the possession over, and it was just Ron sat here in an empty classroom. Just Ron. Not anything of the- other side of himself that came out when he got so devastatingly thirsty-

(It hadn't gone away. He was still thirsty.)

-But the vampire was gone, and now it was just him.

(Mostly. The two could never be properly separate.)

It was like waking up after a strange dream. His fingers felt new, like he'd never stretched them before, and so he did. He walked across the room slowly, testing out his limbs. They didn't flail, but held strong. Not too strong, either.

Ron sucked in another breath through tingling teeth. They fizzed, and his head felt vapid, like he'd been dizzy. Could he get dizzy anymore?

Evidently so.

The doorhandle of the door (old, as everything was in this castle) opened, and he was surprised to see it was his own hand that had done it.

Where was he going?

The infirmary, of course. The dried blood on his face was beginning to itch, and he needed some more that wasn't his own.

Obviously.

Ron walked along the corridors, pale and quiet, red robes painted with his own blood and dampened with melted snow. He alone stirred the dust in these hallways, and he listened.

As now, there was something to listen out for.

"I hoped he'd come here first..." a paused. "I'm not sure where else there _is_ to go, other than perhaps the dormitories. And Mr Potter already went there."

"There's still hope, Albus," said Snape, tones steely. "That he didn't just walk out the gates. Very little of it, however."

A deep sigh, like he'd heard it a thousand times before. "He wouldn't do that, Severus; I have faith."

Snape made a noncommittal noise. "Minerva is in agreement with me. He's bad for this school."

Dumbledore's tone remained unaffected. "He would not, Severus, I have faith - and I was right - he did come here after all."

Ron decided it was about time he pushed open one of the doors, mind clouded with thoughts and brain too heavy for his head. His neck ached. Everything ached, despite his resistance to long-lasting pain.

Something in the back of his mind still whimpered for blood ( _everything_ ) and he supposed he had come here to sate that.

"Are you all right, Mr Weasley?"

He blinked again a few times, his glamour making his temples ache more than ever, and cleared his throat. It was dry. "Yeah... fine. How's um- Carrie?"

"She's fine. Madam Pomfrey treated her, and she left ten minutes later. It was merely a broken bone."

"I'm so sorry, I-"

Snape's lips drew back with a snarl. "Save it. You've already done enough harm."

Ron felt the shame coursing through his body, and tightened his jaw. "I'm sorry for that. I really am. I just can't- help it."

"At least attempt to control yourself," said Snape witheringly, and Ron felt his temper flare. This turrent of emotions was really going to have drained him out by the end of it, when they'd all flowed through him. He'd be left wrung out like an old rag.

"I am!"

"You're not doing _enough_."

"It's hard, really hard. I can't- I wasn't prepared, I couldn't ignore the blood. It's like there's something else in my _head._ You can't imagine it!"

"You're not even properly trained." Snape's eyes were cold, a darkened flame. "Merlin, Albus, did you really impend upon such us a poorly-trained animal?"

Ron snarled at him; properly snarled, forgetting where he was and who was stood in front of him. He saw something flash in Snape's eyes before the man whirled round with his wand in hand, wild-eyed and chin held high.

"Take another step closer, and I will kill you." Snape's tone was edging on wild, and Ron realised they were stood at odds, at other ends of the infirmary.

Ron stood entirely still, and said, "You can't do that."

"I can, according to the law. I'm allowed to kill you if I feel threatened," he replied crisply, and Ron glared at him like it could pierce straight through him.

Surprisingly, Dumbledore said nothing. Until he walked between them with a calm expression on his face and held out both arms. Ron saw one was blackened, charred-looking. That was where the distinct scent of decay was emanating from.

Power ranged even from his lax stance. Ron drew in a sharp breath, making Snape jolt. "Professor, is your arm all right?"

Dumbledore wound round to face him.

"Mr Weasley, your glamour has come down."

"Oh. Right." He didn't fix it, incurring another menacing stare from Snape. "But professor, is your-"

"It was dangerous what you did," he told him, and for a second Ron wasn't sure what he was talking about. "You could've seriously injured Miss Jepson and Professor Snape, whether you meant to or not. You are far more dangerous than we first might have considered, and seem to... lack, a certain control I've seen effortless in other vampries. Lessons in control would not go amiss."

Ron wanted to scream and shout but he knew it was true. There was no use.

"And how on Earth would that be organised?" spat Snape, now arranged in his usual looming stature, limbs tucked back behind his cloak. "Offer up students and see how many he kills?"

"I would never kill anyone," forced out Ron on command, and they both looked at him.

"So you say, _Weasley,_ so you say," begun Snape. "But a day will come when you grow bored and tired of this mortal life. You will snap. And you will kill, and have to come to terms with it. Knowing what you had done you couldn't possibly return to society, so let's just get rid of you now."

Ron said nothing, although Snape was wrong.

He'd already murdered, and he'd managed to fit in; although he had been right in the constant feeling of estrangement.

Still, what a hypocrite. "Don't tell me you've never killed," said Ron, expression turning ugly. "I bet you have and you enjoyed it, you maniacal-"

"Gentlemen!" Dumbledore shouted, not uncoothly. "We are not getting anywhere in our current line of conversation," he looked between them, disappointment lining his features. "Both of you, clamp down on your tempers - remember your place as teacher," he looked at Snape, "and student," he looked at Ron. Frowned at him, in fact, scanning him worriedly. "Ron, should you have some blood?"

The voice whined louder, the noise building in his ears. Ron allowed himself a second to close his eyes against it, a _second_ against his penance before he spoke again.

He shifted his ring round on his finger restlessly. He'd been doing that a lot recently. "Yes."

"Well, we'll have to sort that out. But unfortunately... I'm going to have to remove you from the Quidditch team, until you can control yourself around blood. I can't have a- such a danger to other students." Dumbledore gave him a reproachful look. "I understand how unfair this must feel, and it _is,_ but unfortunately..."

"I know," said Ron. "My condition, or whatever."

"Condition's too tame a word for it," said Snape.

Ron gritted his teeth. The man was right, but he didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

So, he was banned off the fucking Quidditch team. Excellent - Harry would be thrilled, Ginny ecstatic, the rest of the team jumping for joy. The entirety of Gryffindor, betting that Gryffindor would win with their stellar keeper or whatever the hell people said about him would be overjoyed at the money they'd no doubt gambled away.

Ron wondered who ran that, now Fred and George were gone. He didn't particularly care at the moment.

He supposed it was fair, though. Him being the savage beast that he was, unable to watch a drop of blood split from someone's skin like an overflow of lava before he exploded.

Maybe Harry and Ginny would be glad to see him go. He'd gave... frightened them terribly. Ron could still remember the desperation in his friend's voice.

How far could he push it before they pushed _him_ away?

"And what of the other things he's done?" said Snape, tipping his head at Ron so the greasy curtain parted slightly. "The duelling with Blaise Zabini, the showing off..."

"That should stop too," said Dumbledore with a nod.

"Easy for you to say," scoffed Ron, hurt at the... at everything. Angry at himself. "You haven't been here for weeks."

Snape looked murderous while Dumbledore remained somewhat unbothered. "I am aware some have taken issue with my frequent trips from the castle," he paused. "But rest assured, this is still my own school. And I will have a say in what goes on, such as conflict behind these walls. Today I was not at the Quidditch match, although, Professor McGonagall was there to stop things if they went too far. I understand how difficult this has been, Mr Weasley, Ronald if I might... but unfortunately this is how things have to be. I do applaud your control not to hurt Miss Jepson, however, it was close from what I have been told."

"Yes, Professor."

Dumbledore gave him a look. "So I might understand why you would be short with me, Ronald. We'll leave you to... gather some more patience," he sighed. "Come along, Snape."

Dumbledore turned back to Ron, Snape walking ahead. "And, Mr Weasley... I have to tell you, the ice is growing thinner. Be careful, or you might fall."

Right. So in Dumbledore language, expulsion.

They left him again, not sticking around to watch him attack the small pittance of blood he was allowed with a hungry fervour, two days before he was supposed to get it.

He knew everything was necessary, but it wasn't fun for him. What would they be talking about, out there? Were they were all realising he was more trouble than it was worth.

_Wasn't fun for him. Didn't he deserve some fun? Something fun to do without worrying about anyone finding out? With all these powers, and all this time, couldn't he really think of something fantastic._

His blood leapt at the chance to do something unsanctioned. Something against the rules, engage in some rebellion. He'd had it with all these rules, these boundaries... let him do something _fun_ , for Merlin's sake.

Something a little more suited for him.

Ron made a pained noise suddenly, clenching down again on the glamour that had nearly slipped off entirely. He sat there for a second, time ticking away and his stare fixed to the ground. Blood-stained lips still, eyes wide and unblinking.

Blue, of course.

 _For the minute_.

He threw back the blood, tasting bittersweet satisfaction, and vowing he'd get started on building up a tolerance to being around it. Somehow.

Just... not today.

The end of term couldn't come fast enough.

* * *

All right, thanks for reading. Wasn't expecting to give you guys such a dark present, but here you go.

Er. Yeah. That's about it. No clue when I'm updating next. Could be a while?

Thank you all very much for everything!

-Tea33 :)

Also, I'm making a minor change to things: basically, if a vampire wears runed jewellery they can be seen in a mirror and photos and whatnot. Any discrepancies will be fixed (when I catch them). The runes on the back of mirrors and in cameras is... well, that doesn't exist anymore.

Please nobody tell me off for changing things this far in the story, I am an idiot.

Thanks again!


	24. Hogsmeade

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Twenty-Four: Hogsmeade

A week later, and Ron was sat in McGonagall's office yet again, the deputy headmistress rounding her desk and glowering at him as she sat down.

"So, Mr Weasley," began McGonagall tersely, "considering the fact you are banned from the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and the last time you went to Diagon Alley it was blown up-"

"That wasn't me!"

"Of course it wasn't, Mr Weasley." McGonagall faced him with a stern expression. "But we can never be too careful. So why, knowing all of this, did you decide to visit Hogsmeade?"

"Um," he paused. Snow was still falling thick outside as it had done for weeks on and off, and McGonagall's unhappy face was lined against the whitened window. Ron opened his mouth again, and faltered, because he was close to being gone. He knew it. "I wanted to do a bit of Christmas shopping."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Of course. And you couldn't have things delivered by owl?"

"It's not the same unless you've chosen it yourself."

She nodded. "And how did you get out of the castle?" McGonagall paused. "I am asking purely for curiosity's sake."

"Yes of- of course. My... natural vampire wiles?" he tried, and she didn't look impressed.

He'd never tell her how he really got out of the castle. And he hadn't regretted visiting Hogsmeade, either.

* * *

Filch had sniffed as the three of them drew near the gates. Him, Harry and Hermione were gathered tightly in their coats, hands shoved in pockets to protect against the cold. Hats on heads, scarves ringed around necks like obedient pets.

Ron couldn't feel temperature, and so thankfully the extra, unecessary layers didn't make him feel overly-warm. Or warm at all, for that matter.

The day was pleasant yet cold, white snow piling up further and spilling through gaps of the tar-black gates. The cobble beneath their feet was slippery and icy, and by looking up at the sky Ron could tell it would snow more today.

A decent day for Hogsmeade. They'd pushed the date back further this year, all the way till the end of term. Ron had a few days left and then he was finished with the term; then, the Christmas holidays would be spent at the Burrow.

The term had been fine, only going considerably downhill once he'd been banned from the Quidditch team, and again when the teachers began taking more of an interest in his behaviour.

He'd thrown a book across the table to Harry, and Flitwick told him not to be so brash - later on he was served with the request to write a hundred lines of 'I must not show off my unnatural strength'.

Fun way to spend a Wednesday night, he had to say.

At least the professor apologised - he'd been all kind frowns and disapproving smiles.

"I apologise, Mr Weasley," he'd said. "I know you could have done this last year and there wouldn't have been an issue."

Ron nodded; his hands tightened into fists in his pockets, fingers pushing down harder on the brackets of his knuckles; a small pain to relieve a greater struggle. "I know," he said. "But this isn't last year anymore."

Flitwick nodded and sent him away, quietly telling him he hoped he had learnt his lesson.

Ron always said yes, but the next time the opportunity came to toss a book over to Harry, he took it, only knowing it was something he wanted.

Well, he'd always been a bit of a shit listener.

Term was running down, and all Ron had to look forward to was this Hogsmeade trip.

"Ron Weasley, are you?"

He stopped, feeling eyes on him from all around the courtyard along with Filch's. "Yes?"

"Professor Flitwick asked me to pull you aside and wait for him. He should be here in a few minutes." The man shuffled off, leaving Ron stood in place feeling incredibly awkward as everyone else was probed over. The line filtered through the gates as each one passed, and embarrassment churned through his stomach. It was one of the new safety precautions, and Ron didn't even want to know what would happen if he got within a foot of it.

Thankfully, the Charms professor arrived swiftly.

"Good morning Mr Weasley," he said.

"Er - morning, Professor," Ron replied.

Flitwick glanced up at him. "I must admit, Mr Weasley, I'm surprised you decided to attend today's trip-"

"-Why?"

He just went on swiftly, ignoring Ron's question. "-but I'm afraid you cannot go. There are far too many people there with... abnormalities, and the risk is too great. You understand that Hogwarts cannot have it come out a vampire is attending as one of the students, of course."

Ron swallowed, the words hitting his brain again and again. "I- I don't understand, professor."

Flitwick sighed, and stepped closer to him. "You can't go, Mr Weasley," he clipped out shortly, in a brutal way the professor knew would make it over more quickly. "The risks are too great for everyone involved-"

"I _won't_ do anything!"

"But the Prophet won't see it like that, will they?" he said. Flitwick shot him an imploring stare. "I am truly sorry Mr Weasley, but that's the way it is. I apologise if the trip to Diagon Alley got your... hopes up, but the Order has reflected upon the decision and decided it was something not to be repeated. There are people looking for you, after all; I think you are intelligent enough to understand the Order's reasoning." Flitwick nodded at him, and turned away.

Ron swallowed, and watched as the professor left, walked back up to the school.

Christ. That was embarrassing. Behind him he could hear whispers, wonderings aloud about why Ron Weasley couldn't go to Hogsmeade since none of them had been close enough to hear.

_What had he done?_

_Were his grades truly that terrible?_

_Merlin, even Thornsmith in out year was allowed, can't imagine what he did that was worse-_

Ron exhaled in exasperation, and turned around, catching the eye of his friends still clustered around the gates despite Filch's admonishments.

He shook his head at them, and Harry winced. Hermione's shoulders dropped. But then, Ron nodded, jerking his head slightly back at the castle and then pointing at Hogsmeade, which peeked ahead under smatterings of October ice.

A look of understanding dawned across his mates' faces, and then Ron turned away, dejectedly like he had just been told he couldn't go to Hogsmeade. Playing the part.

But really - well, really he was going to go through one of the secret passages.

Flitwick had had a point about the danger of it all, Ron was realising... but he just wanted to go to Hogsmeade. Like always.

He just wanted things to be the fucking same, for Merlin's sake. Even if they weren't, he wanted to bloody _pretend_ for a second; he wanted to go to lessons, play Quidditch, bicker with people, hang out with friends, visit Hogsmeade.

He'd had a special little session with McGonagall about the feud between him and Zabini, too. She told him it could no longer go on, and he'd just nodded, teeth gritted that arguing with people had been taken away from him.

Even one that had now sunk beneath the tide and was swept clear off the minds of the gossip-mongerers; that had been the fate of the Zabini-Weasley duel, now just a few unbothered, mild glares across the hallway every so often.

The fair duel in Slughorn's detention had made things all right. All except here.

"You're just too threatening, Mr Weasley," said McGonagall.

"Sure." He hadn't the energy to try and fight it, because he _could_ understand. He knew why these things had to be done - agreed with them. But it if it didn't sometimes make him feel like breaking the rules, being himself for a minute again...

It was all a precarious balance, and sooner rather than later it was all going to tip a certain way. He'd thought of going home, how his parents would smile wearily and be happy about having their son back, but... what could he do? There, he would feel even more useless. What was his purpose now, with his changed path?

The future right now was as confusing and muddling as the sky that hung in the background, threatening snow, and all Ron knew was that he wanted to go to Hogsmeade with his friends. He didn't want to think about what the Death Eaters might be doing, or what Mordecai was doing... he just wanted to go out for a bit.

He could think about the rest later.

* * *

"Merlin, this is heavy- urgh!" Ron hissed as he hefted up the tile above, sending the several crates piled on top crashing to the floor. Luckily, the sound was masked by the chatter and shouting of Honeyduke's on a day during the school's Hogsmeade trip, so nobody came down to check.

Ron manouvered himself out from the stone, placing it all back where it was supposed to go, and cleaned the dust off his shoulders.

Yeah, he'd done a Harry. Sue him.

(It was what Ron and Hermione had dubbed sneaking out of Hogwarts from the passages found from the map that Harry was so very attached to.)

But how would he get out of the storeroom? He couldn't stay here long, in case anyone came down for something; he could try slipping past the workers at the front, however, that was liable to go very wrong-

Footsteps. Coming down the steps, right now, the door was opening - Ron ducked behind a pile of crates quickly, hearing the breathing near him and pause at the bottom of the cramped stairwell. He slipped a crate to the side slightly, able to get a glance at whoever had come down - but there was no one there-

_Was he caught out, or not?_

His heart froze in his chest, and this time he could feel it.

He frowned in confusion. Empty air stood right where there was supposed to be someone; could he have imagined it? No, there was a heartbeat and bloodflow and breaths in and out-

Ron laughed, suddenly realising. He laughed loudly, slightly hysteric as he rose from his crouching position in the corner, leaning on the crates with his elbows.

"Bloody hell Harry," he called out to the thin air, "you scared me for a second."

The cloak came off, his best mate coming into view with a smirk on his face. "I know. You look like you've seen a ghost - you're as white as a sheet."

"Don't joke about that. You know I can't get a tan," Ron huffed before he glanced around them. "Huh. So this is what the storeroom of Honeyduke's looks like- is that a _full box_ of peppermint toads?"

"Calm down, Ron. They'll notice if you take that many." He beckoned him over, and they both ducked under the cloak. Harry rubbed his hands together, to rid them of the cold. "Come on, let's get out of here. Hermione's waiting in the Three Broomsticks."

"Fine. I can't even enjoy them anyway," he said, casting one final gloomy look over at the boxes before they both trooped up the steps and to the nearby pub.

They clattered up the stairs, careful to mask their footprints the closer they got to the top, and finally threw the cloak off in the pick'n'mix aisle when they were sure no one was looking.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, before his eyes landed on the rows of sweets laid out in front of them. They lit up. "So, you want to buy anything?"

Ron barely spared it a glance. "Go ahead, but I don't think it's my kind of thing."

"There are blood-flavoured lollies," remarked Harry nonchalantly, hand ghosting over the transparent wrapping. "Wouldn't you like those?" he asked.

"I bet they're not even-" a kid sprinted past, snatching a handful of jellybeans and jamming down his coat, snickering, before running off, and Ron was suddenly more mindful of the people around him.

"They're probably made of terrible... syrup," he told Harry, who nodded knowingly. He still held the sweet aloft, red glowing under the light, and Ron took it hesitantly.  
"Who buys these, anyway?"

"I don't know. But apparently Neville's gran likes them - they're like black pudding, but in sweet form, according to her."

"Okay. Sounds rubbish, I'm gonna go pay for it anyway," he said, putting a brave face on and walking up to the counter, where stupid cards boomed their birthday callings ("You're a galleon among sickles!"), and Harry grabbed a bag of Bertie Botts from behind him. They both paid together.

Next they met Hermione in the Three Broomsticks, finding a good table to sit at right at the back, where, ideally, they would not be overheard.

"Ron finally got the lollipop," said Harry, and Hermione looked interested from behind her butterbeer.

"Was it good?"

He shrugged. "Haven't tried it yet. Why are you both so interested?"

"Well, we have to find something you like that isn't..." she trailed off, but they both knew what she meant. "But is still nice. You just always look so miserable at mealtimes, and at Halloween, so I though you deserved something nice. If- if it actually is, you know, being animal blood and all."

"Thanks, Hermione," remarked Ron, smiling at her.

Hermione plucked her hat off, revealing a mop of frizzy hair. She grimaced at it and then grinned back at Ron, who felt himself warm and his grin turn dopey (completely stupid of him, but, well, he was helpless against it).

Harry cleared his throat, kicking the conversation back up again with: "So Ron, why did Flitwick pull you aside?"

"Well," he felt himself tense slightly, "Flitwick told me I couldn't go to Hogsmeade."

She gaped at him, mouthing forming an 'o' shape. "And you just- what? He- so he told you not to come? If he specifically told you not to come here, then you should-"

"I'm not that bothered, Hermione," he brushed her off, expression resigned. "You know how they've been tightening the rules on me; I'll take what I can get, and I just wanted to go out with you all."

She paused. "And you're not worried he could find out you disobeyed him? Loads of people have seen you here today, and I'm sure they're wondering where you want."

"Ah," Ron longed for a butterbeer, just so he could sip some of the awkwardness away. "See, that _could_ be an issue."

"Don't worry mate," Harry nodded at him. "We'll shut everyone up for you. Oi! Dean!" he shouted at the students closest to them: Ginny, Dean, Seamus and Lavender, sat together around a table.

Ron wasn't a fan of his sister dating Dean, and thank Merlin Harry was on his side. But he'd put up with it; Dean was a friend of his, despite all the jaw-clenching Ron did when those two were being all... couply together.

You know what though, he'd rather Dean than Malfoy. It was better than that.

Things with Lavender had gotten better since he told her what he thought of her feelings towards him.

Lavender had seemed fairly happy to forget all about Ron once it became clear they weren't going anywhere - something he'd done a week or so ago.

"Lavender," he said one day after Defence Against the Dark Arts. "I... people have been saying stuff about you, um, liking me."

Her cheeks pinked, and her eyes were wide. The hallway was empty; it was just the two of them, and Ron was feeling quite awkward. "Erm, y-yes?"

"So I suppose this is the part where you... tell me what you think about it?" she said, tone still tinged with hope, and Ron sighed heavily.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Lavender, you seem nice and all, but I'm not interested."

Her face crumpled, but she recovered it quickly. "Okay. Okay, you don't- are you sure?" her gaze was hopeful again, and Ron shifted the book under his arm awkwardly. A chill blustered through the corridor, and made her shiver. Ron winced.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

She nodded at him stiffly. "All right. Okay, sure. You don't like me. Okay, okay."

And Lavender wandered away, breaths getting tighter every second she got further down the corridor, and Ron felt a little guilty. But lying to her would've been worse.

It took a few days of Lavender staring at him hard across the dinner hall with red, scratched eyes, a few instances of her and Parvati walking past with the latter shooting Ron a dirty glare, but things improved.

Well. That was that, then. Things were still awkward, and Ron wasn't expecting them to be normal... probably ever. But at least he'd gotten it over and done with.

Hermione told him she was glad he'd been sensible about things, and for following his heart, so that was one good thing.

But there was something still on his mind just a- just a bit. He wasn't one for being vain, or whatever this qualified as... but he felt a bit awkward being sixteen and never having kissed anyone.

It was stupid that he hadn't yet, and stupid he was worrying about it. And he was pretty relevant - a member of the Quidditch team, duellist extraordinaire, whatever... He could just go up and ask someone on a date, probably snog them by the end.

It wasn't like he didn't want to - he just didn't know who to ask. And how to get around the fact the only one he wanted to snog was Hermione, being truthful.

He darted a glance across the table, where Hermione and Harry were chatting across the table. She laughed, and the expression made her look that much more attractive. Ron snapped his gaze back before it got too longing.

If things were normal, he might have kissed her. ( _Might._ ) But kissing Ron would be too dangerous, considering his vulnerability to blood. Snogging a vampire was pretty risky.

He snapped back to the present as Harry was shouting across to them, "Ron was never here, yeah? Spread the word!"

Seamus nodded, and immediately begun whispering to Dean and Lavender, and in a second both of them had been dispatched to go and spread the word to the rest of the pub.

"Well, that's sorted then."

"No it's most certainly _not_ ," said Hermione with a scowl, hand clenched atop the table. "What if a teacher still finds out about you being here when you're not supposed to. What about that?"

Ron shrugged. "Then I'll be kicked out I guess."

"Yes, Ronald you'll be told o- what?" her tone was incredulous as she sputtered, and Hermione's face was twisted into something dreadful. " _Kicked out_?"

"Yeah. I... they could do."

"I haven't heard about this." said Harry, bewildered. "So you let me drag you to Hogsmeade even though you could be _expelled_ for it?"

"You didn't make me do anything. And, first off-" he begun to list on his fingers, "-how is this any different from second year, and secondly, I don't mind if I'm-

" _Stop_ , are you even hearing yourself?" Hermione very near shouted. "It's like you properly want it!"

Again, he shrugged at his friends. His expression was resigned. "I can't do anything anymore. I've been banned from Quidditch, and Hogsmeade, and they're talking about more. I'm told at least once a day I should stay away from this spell, or doing that spell- or that the glamour could drop. I can't duel in lessons anymore, because if someone bleeds, it's _over_ for me. I don't have enough control."

"That's wrong," said Hermione. "They shouldn't impose so many rules on you."

"Yes they should," Ron replied. "I _can_ _'t_ control myself. I got lucky for a few weeks before, and no one got hurt. But I didn't know how risky things could be. Also... I- I need more than I did before. Of, um, the stuff."

Hermione's eyes widened, and her stature loosened at once. "Really? Wait, do you meant the- _blood_?" she hissed, and Ron nodded, wary of the people around them and how good their hearing was.

Ron shook his head, purely to himself. "Before I could go one a small-ish bottle a week or so. Then it went to two. Sometimes I need more than that. It's gone up, Hermione, and it's... expected, but we don't know when it'll stop. When hunger might hit me again and you scrape your hand on something, and it's all over. I don't know what will happen, and it... it's been a good run, but I might have to go."

Harry was deliriously pale. "That's..."

Ron nodded at him balefully. "Yeah. Not good. The match last week... it could've gone very, very wrong."

Thank Merlin it hadn't; the rest of the school was fairly oblivious about what happened, and even Harry who'd been right next to him hadn't fully grasped the danger. It was why when he returned from the hospital wing that day they, Harry and Hermione, hadn't shunned him immediately.

"McGonagall and Snape want me out of here, and Flitwick too, probably, so I'm as good as gone. I have until the end of term, and then they'll probably tell me not to come back. It's unpredictable, really. Not like Lupin, where you would know when he transformed; my curse is a bit more of a gamble."

Harry was slumped in his seat, and took a long draw of butterbeer before he spoke again. Half of the golden liquid was gone. "So, what are we going to do?"  
"It's obvious, isn't it? I'll go back home to Mum and Dad, and be homeschooled. You'll still see me during the holidays."

"So that's it? You're just giving up?" said Hermione, and Ron shook his head.

Ron felt bad, then. "I don't know. I want to stay, but... it's dangerous."

"It's just such a shame," she said. "And you're sure it's going to happen?"

"I don't know. Yeah."

They all looked unsteady, taken unprepared by the news and all unsure of how things would pan out. "Well, if you're leaving, I suppose it's good you came here," said Harry, after a long sigh. "Get in one last Hogsmeade trip before..."

"Yeah, I know," said Ron quietly. "But it is for the best."

Hermione was looked at him. "Ron, do you want to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with me?"

He turned to her, and it felt his eyebrows rose all the way to his hairline. If he had a drink, he'd have choked on it. "What?" Merlin, why was his voice so tinny?

She faced him with determination written across her features, and said, "Harry's already going with Luna, and the only one I had left to ask was Cormac McLaggen, so - do you want to go with me? You know, have a bit of fun before you leave."

"Oh. _Oh._ " He thought he understood now; for a second there... he thought- he thought... but no, it wasn't like that. "As friends, yeah?"

Harry winced, and lifted his glass to his lips again.

Hermione near-winced, too. "Yes. Sure. Friends, Ron. But let's just go together, all right? Oh! You didn't have anyone else in mind for a date, did you? I'm sorry if I just ruined things-"

"No, Hermione, it's fine," he laughed. "Perfect, actually."

She flushed.

"I- I mean I didn't have anyone to go with, either. I was going to skip it."

"Well, now you don't have to," she replied, and Ron nodded.

He knew they were just going as friends. But his heart still beat fast thinking about it.

Ron smiled again at Hermione, and she smiled back at him. Although around them people in the bar whispered with their heads low and hands shoved deep into their coats, congealed in concrete groups stuck close together, their talk contained in the bubble.

It was like Ron had seen at Diagon Alley, that the latest newspaper headlines were having more of an effect than simply updating the home-defence laws.

People just withdrew inside of themselves; he saw how the fear kept the lights on longer at night, the shops shutting earlier, and twisting expressions and hearts. The war was only in the distance, but they all knew it was coming. Everyone did, no matter how hard the papers tried to feign normality.

Ron saw what it could do to a person, his dad had told him enough about the last war; it twisted suspicion and morals into some kind of unrecognisable, gnarled lump and wrung the person out. It did that unless you prepared to fight and take risks and come alive with the fight, which many simply weren't able to do.

It made the light flicker in his own chest, and bow his head and listen to the mournful, aching whispers of the people around him.

Then Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed it, grinning widely and saying something about the party, and he forgot all about it.

* * *

"Nice view," said Harry appreciatively, looking over at the castle, and they decided to stay there for the afternoon. It had been roughly half an hour since they'd left the bar, and they had walked over to a hill with a small collection of rocks huddled there; a good place to sit, in the trio's opinion.

And so every Hogsmeade visit, they would go there, and sit for a while.

On the journey over Ron had tried the blood lollipop; made of animal blood; it wasn't vegetarian, but better than cannibalism, which was essentially what Ron was doing if you thought about it-

"Oi!"

Hermione stood victorious after she had gathered a clump of thick snow in her hands, the white nestled coolly in her magenta mittens, aimed; Harry turned around a second later, saying, before the snowball flew through the air, and smacked him across the face with a flurry of snowflakes.

He spluttered and flailed, snow smattering on his glasses, and Ron snorted at him. Harry turned back to face them with vengeance, and he soon had scooped up his own handful of snow.

Just like in third year again, they'd had a snowball fight on the walk over before they reached the circle of rocks. Hunks of white flecks all cemented together flew through the air, spinning and spinning and missing, or thumping into somebody's back. The air was thick with flying snow and the shrieks of an accurate target.

Soon they were shivering and cold, dripping with melted snow. The sludge was smattered in everyone's hair, but what was a warming charm for?

Harry slumped back into a mound of snow on the floor, and sighed. His hair was soaked, the black strands flopping forward in something almost comical.

"Fuck, I'm tired," he muttered, and tipped his head back further.

Hermione wandered over to the two of them, and glanced down at Harry. She kicked his foot. "Hey, where's your stamina, Quidditch captain?"

"Shush, shush, technically we're off now, let me enjoy my holiday-"

Hermione snatched up some more snow, and Harry leapt up again with a screech.

Ron smirked, and then-

He heard something, a grinding, scraping sound of gears tumbling, he though. Over and over in a melody made agonising nestled amongst his eardrum.

He saw a blue building with doors like smears of mud rather than wood planks; frail shadows of what they used to be, and decrepid on the horizon.

Ron saw the whole structure waving in the wind, snow collecting in the corners, and looked away. The old portkey office, he would guess - his dad had mentioned it to him a few years prior.

"We used to do all kinds of things in there," he said. "Once it had shut. Parties and card games and all sorts. We used the old passageway only we knew about to get through."

Ron knew. It was the one Sirius had suggested they do the DA in, before Harry told them it had caved in; and he'd heard that off Fred and George.

His father continued. "Before it was just a portkey centre, a place to safely get portkeys to other places, you know? But that place has been out of use for years, it's just an abandoned building on the edge of the village, I'm quite sure." He adjusted his glasses nervously. "No one's there anymore."

So why was everything in Ron telling him to go and check it out?

They were quite close to the main path that linked up Hogsmeade and Hogwarts (and when the time came, they would separate, Ron going back to Honeyduke's so he could sneak back and the others going to Hogwarts) and they heard a scream. A scream that came from the snowy depths of the path ahead, the long, winding one that led up to the castle, and Ron turned his head like a whip.

* * *

"It was silly of you. Irresponsible." McGonagall rounded the desk. "And perhaps, the last straw."

Ron's jaw dropped open. "I- come on, professor! That's not fair!" He gave himself a moment, a breath, to calm down. "I knew it was going to happen... but please, not now: at least give me until the end of the term."

She looked stern. "I'll only be able to do that if you _behave_ , Mr Weasley, I've told you enough times."

He gave her a look, shaking his head before slumping further back in his seat. "I'm trying," he said. "But I'm not allowed to do anything anymore, I'm going insane-"

"The rules were made to be followed, and it didn't stop the repurcussions." She slammed a newspaper down on the desk in front of him, but Ron didn't bother looking; he knew what the article in the Prophet would be (just thank Merlin it wasn't front page but a small article in the back).

"And Miss Bell! What happened to her?"

Hermione spoke up then, mouth finally opening from when McGonagall had told her to shut it (in so many words) earlier on in the meeting The three of them were sat on chairs opposite her desk, looking quite sheepish. "None of that was our fault, professor," she said, pointing at her, Ron and Harry, who was holding his scarf a little numbly and had been examining it for the past ten minutes. "We don't know who cursed her."

Ron's expression further twisted in melancholy as he relived the afternoon.

He remembered rushing over as Katie was thrown in the air by an invisible force, mouth stretched open rictus and the most awful sounds pouring from it: screams and wails of pure agony.

Ron wanted to clap his hands over his ears just remembering it. Katie had crashed back to the ground, jerking and seizing, with her limbs flailing in all kinds of uncomfortable positions.

She'd dropped something, Ron remembered. So he went over to pick it up while Harry and Hermione went to fetch Hagrid, who they'd spotted through a gap in the trees earlier up the path.

It was the ugliest necklace he'd ever seen, the metal aged and gemstones tarnished. It was wrapped in brown paper - like the stuff his mum used to line cake tins with - and Ron wondered what Katie was doing with it. It looked dark, cursed even. Something his dad would tell him to stay far away from.

Still, he couldn't help sticking out a finger to trace over the pattern of one of the deep emeralds, feeling the scratches along the supine surface.

Ron felt a zap like a bolt of lightning run up his finger and through his nervous system, and he hit the ground in one weightless crumple.

It took a second of lying there feeling frazzled and twitching amongst the cold, thoughts flipping over in his mind as his eyes spun in their sockets, infallible in their electrified, uncontrollable movement. It took him a few moments before he wobbled to his feet again.

Well. That was stupid. Why did he do that?

 _I can't die_ , his inner voice replied giddily, and Ron wondered if that was a bit bad. But it was true - he could throw himself off a cliff and he'd be fine; he was _untouchable_.

He clenched his eyes shut, relayered the glamour, sensed for anyone around (there wasn't, other than three heartbeats out half a mile away: Harry, Hermione and Hagrid) and glanced at the necklace again. It peeked out from under cardboard-coloured casing, against the white spread of snow, and Ron scowled at it as best he could from under the disorientation.

He scooped up the necklace again in the paper, and shoved it impatiently into the pocket of his coat. Then, he stepped over to Katie, where the twitching hadn't ceased and her head rocked from side to side with wretched, incoherent warbles and moans; swallowing down a lump in his throat, he knelt down beside her and hovered a hand over her shoulder.

"Katie? _Katie?_ " - Christ, what should he _do_ , he only knew her from Quidditch training for Merlin's sake - "Are you all right?"

She only whimpered in response, shied further away in respone (he quickly moved his hands away), and went back to inane muttering.

"Okay." He blew out a low breath, the air catching in the breeze and highlighting in the sun. Ron glanced around and again, saw no one.

Katie suddenly went silent, and Ron's chest hitched. His hand settled on her shoulder and he shook her, lightly; she didn't wake. Her fingers were turning a purpled blue, like violets, and they hung limp with the cold.

Without another thought he bracketed an arm under her knees, the other looping around her shoulders, and lifted her up with ease. Just like he had full confidence of with the necklace, that even if it was cursed it wouldn't make a difference to him - Ron was already cursed, not to mention immortal - he was confident about his own strength. He was strong even without the curse, he knew, and carrying Katie was no trouble at all now with his muscles made of lead.

He carried her up the path, feet sinking in the snow, and soon saw Hermione, Harry and the half-giant shape of Hagrid towering behind them.

"Ey, give 'er to me," whispered Hagrid when they drew nearer. "Can't be drawin' no suspicion abou' your strength now."

Ron blinked, and did so. He hadn't noticed he was even carrying her anymore his mind had been so far away. Like how the giant squid must feel, submerged under the ice during winter.

Another flurry of snow passed him by, and he watched it go.

The five of them reached the gates before Ron remembered he had, in fact, been banned from this particular trip. Filch's eyes widened and his jaw began to quiver as soon as he saw them - Ron - approaching.

"STUDENT OUT THE GATES!" he shouted, attracting the attention of just about everyone in the courtyard. "HE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THERE, YOU KNOW!"

Hagrid growled at him, beard caught with snowflakes like slips of cod in a large fishnet. "He's s'posed ter be, Argus. Don' be stupid!"

Filch leered at him through the steel bars. "Not that one," he said, jabbing a finger, livid purple like Katie's from the cold. "I am on strict instruction, courtesy of Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall _not_ to let him through."

Hagrid turned round to frown at Ron. "'S that true, Ron?"

"Yeah," he nodded, sheepish. "Er, I got banned from this Hogsmeade trip."

"Why? What did 'e do that was so bad?"

Harry shot him a glance. "You know why, Hagrid." And then he gestured at Ron so even the people who now knew what Ron was had no idea what he meant, but his words were enough.

Hagrid stopped. He scanned Ron, thick eyebrows downcast, and sighed. "Firs' Quidditch, and now this. I'm sorry, Ron."

"It's fine. I can understand why they wouldn't let me."

Hagrid sniffed. "I get i'. I'd tell yer off, Ron, I really would, but I reckon Minnie's got that sorted out. Now let me in, Filch - this one 'as to get to St Mungo's, _now._ "

Not wanting to waste any more time, Hagrid pushed through the gates and marched across the courtyard and up to the school while Ron, Hermione and Harry were left to trudge behind, to McGonagall's office, where not a single person had to tell them where they were supposed to go.

After six years, they already knew.

So that was how the three of them ended up here, sat McGonagall's office with her expression tight and unforgiving.

McGonagall faced him solemnly. "I'm seriously considering forcing you to leave this school, you realise, Mr Weasley."

"I know. And I am wondering if it's such a bad thing, since I can't go anywhere or do anything. Worrying all the while about people finding out is exhausting. Snape won't leave me alone-" (he really wouldn't) "-Dumbledore's gone all the time, and you drag me into your office three times a week to tell me off for- shouting, or something stupid." He held up his hands. "But I know you can't do much else."

McGonagall nodded, and looked vulnerable for a moment. "No, I can't, Mr Weasley. Truth be told I don't know _what_ I'm supposed to do - we've never had a vampire at Hogwarts before."

Ron nodded, and he noticed that Harry's pulse had sped up in the last minute or so. He looked over to see him debating the floor seriously, and nudged him slightly.

Harry hardly looked at him before looking over to McGonagall, and opened his mouth, proceeding to tell her who he thought was behind Katie's cursing. Malfoy, of course.

"-Professor, I know how it sounds-"

"Like you can't get over a childhood feud?"

Harry glared slightly behind round lenses. "Yeah, pretty much. But he's been really suspicious lately - he's barely going to classes anymore, failing when he does, hardly at mealtimes-"

McGonagall raised a brow. "It seems as though you're mightily concerned about him, Potter, but I for one do not care about the state of Draco Malfoy and what you think about it. I have more on my hands, such as running the school."

The harsh stare from Harry dissipated for a moment. "What? Where's Dumbledore?"

The older witch inclined her head towards the three of them. "I expect you should know better than I do. Now, if that is all, I must get on with said activities of running the school and sorting out the paperwork of a cursing." She looked up, and saw they were all still there. "Well, go on, shoo." She motioned for them to get out her office.

Ron shut the door on their way out, the last one to go, wood snicking quietly in the silent hallways. But before he did, he heard McGonagall call out:

"I'd be careful, if I were you, Mr Weasley. I have to think about the safety of the other students, and with your lack of control... I'm wondering if we might all be safer with you at home. You included."

He didn't answer - he just left.

* * *

The newspaper article (the one McGonagall had slapped in front of him on the desk) came out less than half a day after Ron's (disastrous, but he didn't know it yet) outing of a vampire being spotted around Hogsmeade. Not spotted, really, but rather... smelt.

It interviewed a man named George Thomps, a werewolf with a spirited gaze that was piercing even through black and white print.

"I was only saying," he'd said to the insistent news reporter, "that as me and a few other mates - _no_ , you can't have their names - were having butterbeers in the 'Broomsticks- what? Of course I'm allowed in there, it's still daylight. Read the rules, you du- I mean, you nice reporter. Might want to refresh on them.

"But as we were having a drink in the pub, I thought I caught something. With my nose. No, it didn't turn into a snout. How would that work, it's not even a full moon? But anyway, I thought I smelt a vampire. Like cold, and metal, and blood, and decay. It's a strange smell to try and describe, and only we can pick it up. I think, don't quote me on that-"

The reporter had quoted him on that - and he'd linked it to how werewolves thought too highly of themselves to be a proper part of society. Even though _they_ were the diseased ones.

"But I can't be certain. And then some nosy bugger overheard it, dragged me aside and threatened to arrest me because apparently, he has some cousin in the Law department and could get me done for possession of moonshine unless I started talking-"

George stopped then, because the man had walked off; he'd gotten what he wanted.

He was left with a bitter taste in his mouth, and the swirling uncertainty of whether he would be arrested or not. George thought he'd bided by the laws, but they changed them at highly inconvenient times.

He worried all that afternoon whether that reporter would get him arrested, so worried he forgot all about the vampire encounter until later on, when the article came out in the paper.

The Daily Prophet didn't forget it, though. And neither would Ron, who was served with reproachful looks from all the teachers in the know, a few days of suffering from all the whispers clinging around him about _who it might be_ , and a hug from Hermione.

At least the last bit had been good. She'd hung on tightly, too - maybe the tightest she'd ever done.

She told him she didn't want him to go.

"But I'm dangerous, Hermione," he told her quietly.

She shook her head. "No you're not. Not really. Not unless there's blood about, and you haven't had anything for a while. Like how a werewolf is only dangerous on the full moon."

Ron wasn't sure what to do. Even after... something else happened, too, that Ron wasn't even sure how to begin processing.

It had started off so innocently. Ron was stood on the Astronomy tower; he and Harry had been going up there for years to complete homework, usually Astronomy related and stood out below the open sky. It could get pretty nippy though, which was what the butterbeer was for. Thank Merlin Ron was warm enough without that syrupy rubbish getting anywhere near him.

This time, Hermione came with them as she had been prone to do last year too. So things weren't any different, really, other than the fact...

Hermione had been staring at him for the past ten minutes under the guise of reading her book, and Ron was starting to get pretty uncomfortable. Because of the eyes on him constantly, watching as he just turned the bloody page of his history textbook.

Ron stretched a little, and looked up. Hermione looked away again, her cheeks burning.

Ron stared at her for a minute longer, and went back to his book. Except, there was set of eyes watching him. Harry, Ron realised, from his position splayed out beside a bench with a book as a makeshift armrest, had been watching them both for a few minutes with an expression of utter disbelief.

Suddenly, he stood up, throwing his things into his bag. Harry muttered, "And I thought I was oblivious," before he turned to face the both of them with a pleasant expression and threw his bag over his side.  
"Well, I'm tired. Goodbye."

He was down the steps before Ron could even say a word. He glanced to Hermione who was looking equally confused.

They went back to their studies, until the silence had grown to a deafening rate. Hermione sighed, and brushed back a curly tendril to face him head-on again. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold night air and only grew a darker pink when she looked at him.

Probably just the wind. Um.

"This is weird with so much space between us," she said, glancing at the whole two benches between them. Ron nodded, and picked up his bag, walking over and dumping his things down beside hers. A book fell out, and he bent down to pick it up.

Above him, he heard Hermione standing up.

Ron, a smile beginning to stretch across his face, stood up straight again and saw her closer than ever before. His heart swooned before he could stop it; his eyes scanned her face before he could pause them, looking deep into her eyes - he wouldn't move back now.

Ron still had the stupid book in his hands and he felt like dropping it he was so entranced. Yeah, entranced was the right word - anyone would look at the girl in front of him and be taken in.

She moved in even closer, quickly, too quick for him to properly watch her take a moment to wet her lips slightly, and leaned in to kiss him.

Ron made a noise of surprise when their lips crushed together, and he didn't do anything for a solid second. Then a thought rose through the fluttering in his stomach, the light cloudiness in his head to say: _do something, you prick - Hermione's kissing you!_

Hermione was kissing him. Immediately Ron tried to move the kiss on further, hoping just going with his instincts would work, and luckily it did.

Hermione too made a muffled noise of contentment and continued on the kiss; she stepped up and Ron placed a hand lightly on her side, gripping her there the more heated the kiss transformed.

 _Heat_. Ron felt a jolt in his stomach and imagined something different awakening. Not what you would expect from a teenage boy (although that wasn't far off) but something entirely different.

Something unnatural, something cold, something eerily familiar in its ruthless thirst and complete danger to the people around him. Ron suddenly opened his eyes again and smelt a metallic warmth, humming underneath the honey-glazed skin he admired so much in thick ropes.

_Redredredredredred warm, delicious-_

He felt his glamour wrenched away entirely, the fangs beginning to protrude and ripped away from her entirely. Ron stumbled back, nearly tripping over a bench but he could only watch Hermione, looking entirely dazed. A red-

_Red, red, red-_

" _Be quiet_ ," Ron hissed, and Hermione flinched back.

"I didn't say anything," she muttered, and Ron looked aghast.  
"No, I- I wasn't talking to you!"

Hermione looked appalled. "Well- well if you could have said so in nicer terms I would have left you alone-"

"No, no, Hermione just wait-"

She was packing her things, already, and Ron didn't know what to do. She was leaving now, leaving, and he was powerless, helpless to the thoughts taunting me at the back of his mind-

"I do like you, Hermione, I do. Erm, a lot." He gave her a helpess look. "But this can't work out. I felt... you're human, Hermione, and I'm a vampire."  
She looked anxious. "I know that."

"So we would never work out."

Hermione swallowed. "I know that too."

"So we can't do stuff like that again."

"I know." Her voice sounded smaller and smaller each time.

Ron was feeling miserable and brave, but mostly miserable, so he saw no issue in adding: "I'd like to, Hermione, I really would. But I don't have the control to- to do that kind of thing."

She frowned for a moment, and sighed heavily. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't already know that, it's why I waited so long, but tonight.."

"It's okay, 'Mione," he said, and she smiled.

She was so lovely, Ron felt like he was making a mistake turning her down. But what else was there to do?

All these years it was like they'd been leading up to it. Friends first, facing a number of terrifying things and coming out of it together. And now this: facing something even more terrifying.

This was perhaps the one had done the one thing they couldn't do.

Hermione shrugged a little awkwardly. "I don't know what to say, Ron."

He nearly winced as her voice was imploring him to find a solution he just didn't have. "I don't know either, 'Mione. I'm sorry for shouting, though... nearly lost control again."

"Could you learn to? Control it all, I mean."

Ron looked up. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe. But I- I'm confused enough as it is I don't think this would help me. Whatever it is."

"Yeah," her voice was quiet. "Neither do I. See you later?"

"See you- see you later."

Harry was going to lose his shit later. And possibly kill Ron for making things awkward; because they would be, now he'd snogged Hermione (as nice as it had been). Making things awkward between the two of them had been the thing he didn't want happening most of all.

Were they forgetting about the kiss? Pretending it never happened? Ron had no idea.

He was so, so confused. And then there was that question: could he learn to control himself? Or was he one of the vampires stuck with abysmal control, forever?

Maybe control would come in later years. Maybe one day he would just wake up and found he had grasped it.

Ron sighed heavily, and gathered his things to head back to the Gryffindor common room, hoping Hermione wouldn't be there so he could properly think about this. He did have all night.

Damn this vampire rubbish. If not he might have landed himself a girlfriend, finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna explain where Dumbledore is, I have no time for that. Go google it yourselves, cause it's part of HBP plot and not mine.
> 
> Lol. Finally, they made some kind of move towards each other.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -Tea33 :)


	25. Taken

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Twenty-Five: Taken

Tommy wandered the halls listlessly with a downtrodden expression on his face, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his robes. He darted a nervous glance up at the walls, lined with shadowed portraits; in the darkness their eyes stood out like stark bulbs with expressions masked in shadow. Tommy shivered and looked away.

He didn't know what he was doing here walking the halls. All he knew was that the boys in his dormitory weren't being nice to him (so far having shredded three sheets of homework, hexed him when he was coming out of the bathroom, _twice_ , put flobberworms under the sheets of his bed and set Peeves on him for a bribe) and it was getting to him.

He was afraid they would ambush him while he was getting changed in the bathroom, learn the counter curse to the spell he'd begun putting on his bed-curtains at night. And all because he was a half-blood - if that. His mum had never quite been clear on the subject.

"You don't _belong here_ ," Griffin, the ringleader of them all had sneered at him a week ago. He'd thrown out one wide hand, calloused from Quidditch and swiped out Tommy's entire stack of books, leaving him scrambling to collect them all in the middle of a bustling corridor.

More hands had shoved him past roughly, older students wanting to get to lessons; feet had kicked at him as he tried again and again to get the books, sending both sprawling further across the corridor.

Above it all Tommy saw Griffin, grinning at the end of the corridor, a beam on his face like seeing Tommy earn a black eye from slamming into a wall was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. The trip to the hospital ward had been the awkwardest yet, Madam Pomfrey pursing her lips as he gave the excuse he'd run into a wall (which technically, was true).

He'd told the prefect, and she said she couldn't do anything about it. More like didn't want to - he'd seen the curl of her lip when he was sorted into Slytherin.

"Besides," she told him, head tilted downward to the first year, "what happens in Slytherin, stays in Slytherin. You tell and my cousin won't be the only one after you."

Tommy let his expression crumple for a second, like he was going to start crying alone in a cold corridor far away from anyone else, and then straightened himself again. Couldn't be weak.

He couldn't write home to his mother. She wouldn't get it, being a Muggle (filth, according to the boys who'd never seen her working herself to the bone to keep up with expenses; who didn't know her, who didn't know she was far more than nothing). Plus, Mum had enough on her plate without his silly school troubles bothering her.

That's all it was.

She wasn't a witch, and that was the problem. Not much Mum could do to fix that.

"What a _failure_ \- he should've been a Hufflepuff." people sniped as he walked past, and it took him a moment to realise what that meant; he'd only been here since September.

He had thought about it, but Tommy wasn't sure they'd take him either, seen as he was sorted into Slytherin first.

Tommy had only learned after the sorting that Slytherins were mean and conniving, and realised he should've picked Hufflepuff when the hat asked him. But it said he would do _well_ here, and Tommy wanted to do well for his mother.

But he hadn't been lately. That afternoon he'd fallen asleep in class and when Professor McGonagall had asked why, his throat went dry. He couldn't just reply that he was too afraid to go back to the dormitories to sleep at night.

So here he was again, wandering the halls at night, his only concern keeping quiet enough to avoid Filch. That was getting easier as term went by and Tommy got better at keeping to the shadows, going unnoticed from Griffin and his gang, and in effect, everyone else.

Tommy had to say, he wasn't quite looking forward to the next six years at school. If this was what it was going to be like.

At least it was free. He got an education - in _magic,_ too - for free. His mother didn't have to do a thing while he was away for most of the year, and that was one good thing about coming here. And he did have one friend, a Ravenclaw named Nia and they ate lunch together on the grounds sometimes, and compared notes for classes-

Then, Tommy heard it: a cavernous roaring, one that sounded so much like a monster - a great big _monster_ , with thorns and spikes and oozing magic Tommy squeaked and jumped backwards into a suit of armour with a squeak.

Luckily, it didn't take a swing at him. The suit of armour decked in tinsel for the season with bells bedazzling its visor held still for a moment, before its head began to move. Tommy imagined it peering round the corridor, imagining what that blast-like roar had come from.

_Did they keep dragons in the dungeons? Had those Ravenclaws been telling the truth?_

Tommy swallowed hard, and tried to breathe evenly again. What happened to not being weak?

Goosebumps stood up like spikes across his skin, pricking him and making breathing just that little bit harder. A lot harder, actually.

What was that? Had he imagined it, tired as he was and quiet as the castle hummed? Perhaps the silence had been messing with him-

The roar came again, angry and sharp, like machinery scissoring around the corridors of the castle, and he paused. Stuck in plac, his legs didn't seem to want to move, the explosion still ringing around him, bludgeoning his eardrums to pieces.

He saw stars, and blinked again.

His thoughts were racing. Did anything live in the walls of the castle? Did it? Because it sounded like that- and oh goodness, Tommy didn't want to be eaten by a basilisk like the one supposedly set loose a few years ago-

Again there was yet another blast of noise, loud and disruptive, and it seemed to shake the walls of the castle. Wasn't anyone else hearing this? Tommy wasn't sure, he was deep in the castle and thinking about it actually, hadn't seen a door in quite a while-

The noise came again, but it was quieter this time. A sordid moan, a cry for help. Small puffs of smoke, like the firing of a spell repeated. Christ, Tommy just couldn't tell what this was.

A monster? A basilisk? Dynamite, like on the telly sometimes? Spells?

Although the quieter sound shouldn't have been worrying him, because it sounded like it was moving away... it did. Horribly. To the side of him there was a rustle and a clank, and just as Tommy was about to scream (he didn't care if he sounded like a baby, it was scary, forget not being weak) he saw it was only the suit of armour, silver glimmering even in the virtually non-existent light coming to stand in front of him. Its movements were jerky but strong, wobbly but smooth - and it carried on its arm a large, wide shield almost as big as Tommy. But that wasn't saying much: he was just a scrawny first year, one who only knew a few stupid spells like Wingardium Leviosa, which would do nothing against a massive snake-

He heard the noise again, and this time it was a crunching sound. Louder than ever, and it paused halfway through before finishing again. Tommy even swore he heard a grunt and a curse alongside it, but that could've been his imagination.

Maybe this whole thing was all his imagination. But why would he imagine a big snake thing coming to eat him just a week before the end of term? He had exams to take, and he'd studied very hard for them to prove he was better than those pureblood-swots. He was going to prove them all wrong - if he wasn't eaten by a reptile first.

Oh dear. Oh _f_ _u-_ Breathing was getting exceedingly more difficult, thoughts spinning out of control as his vision stuttered more; dizziness took over, and there was a silver hand on his shoulder. The suit of armour's face loomed up close to his, and Tommy's eyes widened. It tucked its shield to its side, where it fit into the curve of the metal's side and the knight knelt down to be on Tommy's level. Like he was folded down to be knighted.

It (they?) Made a sort of up and down motion, moving its chest at the same time and Tommy got he meant to signal breathing. W-whatever - he needed it if he didn't want to pass out in the corridor.

The knight's hands dropped once Tommy had accomplished a minute or two of the shuddering breaths and he was calming down. Things were _fine_ now-

But then the noise came again, blasting louder than ever, noise ricocheting around he corridor and knight made a motion to spring up. He held back at the last second, though, head still inclined in Tommy's direction.

He waved a flimsy arm out. "I-I'm fine," he wheezed, and although the knight didn't look convinced, it still rose.

A knight. It wasn't a suit of armour, but a knight, Tommy saw. Its movements were as practiced as a soldier's as it shifted heavy metal shield on its arm, streamline like a member of a battalion, unsheathing a shortsword from the harness strapped to its side and readying for battle.

He slowly rose from the ground, wobbling, as the solider inclined a silver-skinned hand to come and follow him. A cracking, breaking, shattering sound struck the walls again as they crept out and away to the main body of the castle again.

How had Tommy not noticed he'd gone so far? Underneath his feet the cobbles were bare, and along the sides of the walls the torches were long extinguished.

It was too late to think about that now though. He had to run from the creature blasting its way out of the walls of the castle.

Tommy wasn't even sure what direction it was coming from. His eyes were wary, juttering as they scanned each wall with the knight circling around him.

He was still feeling faint, so he pressed his hand against the wall behind him to steady himself - except he found that the wall was not a wall but a mirror, and one like quicksand, his hand was _slipping in_ , Tommy realised dimly. His eyebrows shot to his hairline, _magic was so cool-_

Where was he going?

Tommy felt the world tip sideways, and he was thrown through the mirror's surface (which rippled like a lake, he realised in a fit of excitement and terror), coming to crash down on the murky, moist stones on the other side. He scraped the skin clean off his elbows, and thought how annoying wearing his robes tomorrow would be because of it.

His nose was full of the smell of dirt and dust, and... something else. Something metallic and warm; it hovered in the air and as he pushed himself up onto his scraped elbows and felt the drips puddling on his skin from the ceiling above, curdling from limestone he realised what it was-

Tommy felt his mouth go completely dry. He was looking up, into the doom and gloom and glimmer of the stones. He couldn't _breathe_ anymore, his chest was heaving and wheezing, and he realised distantly that he should've tried harder to stay on the other side of the mirror. Damn his rusty lungs and the nerves that all combinined to give him heart palpatations and an inability to move. His mouth gaped open like a sore, and his eyes widened further than they ever had done before. He was utterly hysterical with the panic, brain emitting a high screaming sound rather than helping him out.

There, with one bloody hand pressed to the wall of the... cave, was a man. And this wasn't an ordinary man - his skin was plastic stretched over fine points of metal bars, his eyes deepened red and sat hollow in his sharpened face. His mouth had teeth too cutting for a human's. His hair hung around his face in waving, matted strands.

The long coat he wore was old and stained and covered in debris from the cave. Tommy saw rocks that floated about at head-height basking in magic, and wondered what the man was doing in the cave, this passageway.

He took a step forward, kicking aside rocks to get to Tommy, electricity ebbing and flowing and humming in the air as a tepid orange; it lit up the sides of the cave walls, sponged with green moss; Tommy tried to move backwards, back to the mirror where he could slip through where he heard a banging from the other side, and knew at once it was the knight trying to get to him.

_Why couldn't he get in? Why was the mirror shut?_

He shrieked and began pleading as the man closed in, stare unmoving and boring into Tommy's head like a vengeful bullet-

Tommy screamed loudly, shifting up onto his knees and scrabbling backwards in his last desperation; a sinister expression curved across the monster's face, like a _grin_ -

The banging from outside stopped, and Tommy heard his heart rattling inside his own head, beating its own drum, and shut his eyes tight as a blow came to his head, throwing his mind into darkness.

He couldn't remember where the darkness began and the light ended.

* * *

One hour to go.

Ron sighed, and picked up his quill again. Tried to balance it on his nose for the third time that awful, drudging double lesson; the teacher's voice droned on in the background, providing the prefect base for the hypnotic tick-tock of the clock. His gaze grazed the ceiling dreamily, and Ron leaned his head back in weary bliss.

"Mr Weasley! What is the infusion rate of peppermint root?"

"Er," he thought, still trying to snap his attention back to the question at hand. It wasn't working terribly well. "two-hundred a minute?" The professor pulled a face and some Ravenclaw snorted quietly into his hand a few rows away, but Ron heard. "No! No, it's definitely two hundred and fifty, er, I think."

She nodded. "That'll do. Now then, can anyone..."

The voice drifted off into the background and Ron again leaned back his head.

Forty minutes.

He sat back up again to take some notes. Watched Roger Malone pick drobble's gum off the bottom of the desk and throw pieces at his friend before taking out his own colourful pack, and beginning to chew on that.

Thirty minutes.

Kevin Entwhistle had asked for some, and now they were both chewing. Slightly irritating for Ron since they were doing it so loudly, but he could live.

He heard a whisper at the back.

"Has there been anything in the papers since Tuesday, about the vampires?"

The girl beside the questionee shook her head. "No, not since the Ministry said it wasn't a problem."

"Not a thing?"

"Mhm, yeah. Pretty much. But isn't it scary to think we got so close to a vampire?"

The other girl nodded.

"I mean..." she hesitated. "Didn't anyone notice a maniac running around with blood down its face? Shouldn't we have?"  
"They're difficult to spot - they like hiding near humans so they can kill them easier. My mum said there have even been people in the _Ministry_ who turned out to be vampires and werewolves. There could be one right near us and we might not know. They have clever ways of hiding it, you see."

They both nodded in agreement.

Ron squirmed in his seat; people were _still_ talking about it, and they still were horribly misinformed about vampires. He made a promise to educate people one day, at least try - if he could do it in a way that wouldn't reveal himself, of course.

Twenty minutes.

Ron rather thought he should stop watching the two Hufflepuffs and their admittedly interesting procession with the gum, although the plot was thickening. Now, they'd jammed it to the bottom of Malone's now chewing-gum-free desk and were in the process of sticking Justin Flinch-Fletchley's books to the desk, since he had fallen asleep about ten minutes ago.

Ten minutes.

Was that really it? Until the end of term? It was last lesson on a friday, _the_ last Friday, the one they'd been waiting for since all of them stepped into this damn castle at the beginning of September.

Ron would go back to the dormitory to pack his things, possibly for the last time. Wasn't that fun to think about, Ron would probably be expelled.

He didn't really want to go. Unless he did. But there was no point throwing a fit about it if it would only prove how much he shouldn'tbe there.

Ron still didn't know what to do.

The idea of going home shouldn't have felt so awful. An encroaching sense of fear, and gravitational pull of doom. The inevitability of everything, _everything_ , crashing down.

It shouldn't have felt so jarringly wrong, so something else must be wrong. He felt unsettled. He _knew_ something was up again, and like Harry said, after so many years and going through so much, it wasn't a feeling he could easily disregard.

Last night he'd gone outside. Sat on the snowy banks of the school all night while the snow fell past. Sat down on a bench brushed dry of the frost he didn't get damp, and Ron wasn't cold in the least. The subzero temperament felt refreshing, if anything.

He'd heard the oddest thing as he was coming back, though. A small bang in the distance, like a spell.

He should go and check it out... but, it was on the other side of the castle.

And he needed to get ready for lessons. Besides, it was probably just someone casting a warming charm, right?

(Sounded a bit too explosive for a warming charm.)

( _Maybe it went wrong_ , his mind supplied and Ron was satisfied.)

He bit down on his tongue as he churned over thoughts in his mind, reviewing the past few months.

Malfoy. His frequent, mysterious disappearances. Dumbledore and his disappearances. The silver light. The sound last night that could have been something more.

Something here wasn't adding up. Quite a lot of somethings, actually.

Mordecai, where was Mordecai? Recently Death Eater activity in the papers had become less frequent, still following a rhythm but quieter. Was something going on?

He heard Hermione's voice in his head: _of course there is. There_ always _is._

Merlin's bollocks, there was something going on. Something to be figured out, something for Ron and Harry and Hermione to figure out, like fate's playing pieces. Maybe they were playing right into a trap; maybe they were manoeuvering themselves out of one.

The final bell rang and Ron got up silently, departing out of the room faster than anyone else and cheers of Christmas ringing in his ears as he did.

A holiday seemed a bit low on the list with everything else - he was _convinced_ \- that was going on right now.

* * *

He skipped dinner he was so sure that something was wrong. To go and investigate some more. But he couldn't be late for Slughorn's Christmas party, or Hermione would kill him. Possibly.

There was still that confusing thing to unpack: the thing where him and Hermione kissed, and still went on like nothing really happened. Things were fine when they were in a group, other than Harry shooting them more suspicious look and Ron having this sudden fear to meet Hermione's eye, but alone... there was just so much _tension_.

Ron didn't know if their shot at being together was entirely gone, especially if Ron suddenly learnt control. He could imagine it for a second: the two of them just walking through some pretty park together, arms entwined and laughing about some story one of them just told.

But through it all there was a voice in his head saying, _why would you even try?_ Hermione was human, she's got a limited number of days and she would want it to stay that way. She didn't like drinking blood (Ron didn't either until he was drinking it; afterwards and beforehand was when the guilt sunk in) and Ron would never force her to.

Equally, there was the fact that as nice as his friends were, they couldn't properly relate to him anymore.

It was a hard fucking thing to face that he couldn't date Hermione, no matter how much he wanted to, and a yet bigger pill to swallow that one day, he might have to say goodbye to his friends, watch their aged bodies give up as he stood there freshly sixteen.

It was most of what kept him up at night, if he was honest. Other than the blood on his hands.

Ron sighed as he reached the end of another corridor, and pushed his mind away from succumbing existentialism.

The book - another strange thing. Where did it come from? Who did it belong to? Ron tuned out the other voices around him in the corridor until they faded out, the walls of shoulders lining him becoming thinner and thinner as everyone went down for dinner. Except for Ron, who turned away to a place more remote to think some things out.

He didn't know quite where he was going, but his feet were taking him. There was a fire in his heart, and it was leading him to where the answers were, because they had to be around here somewhere. They always were.

Right. He couldn't get everything done and dusted tonight, but he could tick a few off the list most definitely.

Ron continued walking on, until a certain voice struck him over the head in its stark, unwanted familiarity. It was Goyle and Malfoy, the latter's stature hunched. He looked worse than ever, hair greasy and overdue for a haircut over his eyes while the rest of him looked thin, pale and gaunt.

He heard them before they even turned the corner, like they were stood right next to him. "-I told you I'm not going tonight, I still have to-"

"Don't keep goin' in there, Draco."

"I have to, Goyle, don't be stupid." He sounded defeated, rather than snarky His voice had no bite. "I have to fix it before-" Malfoy stopped dead, and Ron flicked his eyes up to see the two of them standing a few feet away.

Oops. He should've at least made it look like he was doing something rather than eavesdropping shamelessly.

Malfoy's mouth was quickly forming shape after shape, but still nothing came out. He looked breathless with anger, eyebrows slanted firmly down and chest heaving, void of air. His face was a furious red, blotches stark on his greyed face.

"Weasley," he clipped out sternly, "how much of that did you hear?"

Not much of it, but it didn't hurt to pretend. Maybe he'd find something out. "When were you going to tell us, Malfoy?" Ron raised a brow, and crossed his arms. "We'd all have loved to know about your dirty little secret."

His fist was clenched, and one edging closer to his pocket, Ron realised, and Malfoy properly frightened. Wrenched apart by anger. He'd only seen him so scared in third year, when the boy realised a great big hippogriff was rearing up above him to pounce and it was all his fault.

Ron felt like taking a step back all of a sudden. But he'd faced worse: Mordecai was a thousand times more strickening than Malfoy could ever be.

"You tell..." he struck in another breath, the contraction of his chest painful. "No one, Weasley, if you know what's good for you," he breathed, face oddly blank. Eyes wide. Sheer terror written all over his face.

Ron stilled, smirk now uncertain. This didn't look like something he wanted to get involved in. Knowing Malfoy all it was all just a scandal about how he went outside one day with a rumpled cloak. However, Harry's theory was shouting in his ear to be heard.

Ron looked at Malfoy again. _Death Eater?_

"Or what?" he replied nonchalantly, and the boy snapped.

"CONFRINGO!" he roared, and Ron swiped it to the side with an swift shield charm. It threw a blast of wind back at Malfoy, who almost was thrust over by it he was shaking so terribly.

_It didn't look like... he could handle this. He looked like he was done, at the end of his rope._

Ron frowned. "That's useless, Draco," he said, cautious now more than aggressive. "You've no chance of winning; I'm going to tell _everyone_."

Whatever everyone was, it got Malfoy even angrier. He hissed a curse so fast Ron had to duck it instead of block it, the fire singeing the top of his hair.

"I know what you're doing sneaking around all the while."

"Ossa Lapis!"

"What you're doing with the vanishing cabinet."

Malfoy hastily turned around, and barked at Goyle, "Get him!" They both sprinted at Ron, who on the surface didn't seem phased. On the inside, something shifted with a righteous joy, beneath that an unfurling sense of dread. What had he _done_ to Malfoy?

When he told Harry, he'd be elated. And annoyed that him and Hermione had doubted him when in fact, he had been right all along.

There _was_ something wrong with Malfoy, and he was up to something... wherever it was. The vanishing cabinet had something to do with it; the memory came flooding back to him. At the start of the year, in Diagon Alley... he overheard something to do with a vanishing cabinet.

Was there one here? There was one in Borgin and Burke's too, he knew. Did that mean that-

But Ron didn't have any more time to ponder the possibilites before Malfoy and Goyle came running full tilt at him, wands out and spells already prepared. So, he got out his own.

He threw a spell. Malfoy jumped it, Goyle wasn't so lucky, stumbling but picking himself up off the carpet. When they got close enough to hit Ron smashed through the two of them at once, thrusting his shoulders between theirs and knocking them to the side with a little strength. Goyle again was unable to move fast enough and smashed into a suit of armour; it toppled to the floor in a noisy crash, and Goyle stared at it with unfocused eyes. He held his head with a grunt.

"I'll get you for this, you Muggle breeder!"

Ron stared at him in shock. The insult bounced around his brain, but that wasn't what had surprised him: Malfoy wasn't usually like this. Malfoy was never violent, it was one thing you could count on; but now he turned around him, and grabbed a decorative vase. It made a hollow noise moving off the slab of stone. It was about as half as big as Malfoy was. He threw it at Ron in a fit of seemingly, desperation.

Ron's breath hitched as he rolled to the side, Malfoy's furious throw missing. He watched the vase clatter against the floor, smashing to pieces. If Ron wasn't a vampire, it could've struck him squarely on the head... apparently this secret was worth killing over.

Worth killing... maybe Katie had found out something she wasn't supposed to, and Malfoy attacked her like this. Ron had no time to think more about the theory before Malfoy was swallowing, and looking back up again, surprised himself by the damage.

He couldn't have hurt Katie, could he? Like Ron knew, it wasn't his style.

He blew aside a strand of platinum blond hair and dived for the shards of the vase, plucking up the largest one.

Ron tightened his hands into fists at his side, wand in one of them.

His eyes were wild - Ron couldn't think, fuck - and the other boy rushed at him with another cry of outrage; his robes were brushed to the side and he saw they looked wrinkled, stained beyond the usual Malfoy standards.

" _I'll kill you!_ "

Again he dodged it, but this time Malfoy changed trajectory. He crowded Ron up against the wall, darkened purple vase pressed with Malfoy's trembling, pale fingers, and Ron shoved him back ruthlessly, imaginary heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He crashed to the floor, and Ron knelt down on the carpet, feeling cool air brush past him as he swiftly put an arm like iron over Malfoy's neck, and pressed down.

"Let go! Let go!" His fingers still clasped the shard, but couldn't do much with Ron pinning him down. He begun to gasp, neck slowly turning purple where Ron was holding down to match his ringed, deep-set eyes. His jawline looked like it had taken a hit either side, pressing it inwards and bending it out of shape.

He looked _unwell,_ if Ron was honest, and he finally saw what Harry had been on about.

"No! _No, no, you can't-_ n-o!" He wheezed, eyes suddenly widening further. His fingers dropped the shard and scrabbled aimlessly, furiously at Ron's arm, uneven and ripped fingernails bitten right down to the quick scraping at his skin.

Ron lifted up, breathing hard but the air _wouldn't work,_ it wasn't calming him down and Malfoy made a lunge for his wand, stowed in his pocket. Ron panicked and slammed him back down again, Malfoy's thin back hitting the floor with a hollow thud.

Ron gasped for air, for anything. He didn't want to go too far again, like he'd done with Del in the forest and then with Zabini in the duel. He'd delivered both the killing blow (but thank fuck Zabini'd survived.)

Ron scanned his face wildly, feeling livid with the fight. "What is it? What is your secret? What's it _done_ to you?"

Malfoy finally stopped, then. Face whitened other than harsh red bruises of anger across his face. Malfoy began to laugh, almost hysteric in how hoarse and desperate it was.

"You- you don't know!" he laughed, and Ron saw his own blunder. "You- lied!"

He forgot all about escaping as Ron stepped away, choosing instead to thump his head back against the cobble and laughing like a maniac.

"Come _on_ , fucking tell me!" he muttered angrily, but Malfoy's head continued to loll and he continued to laugh, like he'd been the one cursed. "What the fuck did you mean- fuck, Malfoy, what did you..." eyes scanning the other boy blatantly, his attention stirred at the sound of movement across the corridor.

It wasn't Goyle; he'd sunk to the floor, not knocked out just holding his head, so perhaps Ron had hit him harder than he originally though - it wouldn't be the first time-

"Mr Weasley!"

Not for the first time that term- month- week- no, that _day_ , he heard McGonagall's irate tones directed at him.

(She'd pulled him aside at breakfast, and again told him that he should tone it down and he was on thin ice. He'd given Seamus a light shove.

He agreed. He shouldn't be around people if he had such a slippery grasp on his control. But on the other hand, it Ron just kept doing the wrong things, and it got him in more trouble than he cared for. Or didn't care for - maybe he didn't want to go here anymore, where Quidditch was banned and he and Hermione were awkward and no one could look at him without pity flooding their eyes. Maybe this wasn't the right place for him.)

"With me. Now." McGonagall glanced at Malfoy barely stirring on the floor, and Goyle hunched in the corner. "They will be fine for the moment."

She beckoned Ron over and he went. No way he wouldn't.

Malfoy wheezed again in response and Goyle grunted; McGonagall glanced over her shoulder at them, and just dragged Ron into the nearest corridor away from them, and into a classroom.

They went inside, and shut the door behind both of them, charming it. She faced him with an inscrutable expression, and pursed her lips.

"Weasley."

"Professor?" he said a little nervous, and she winced.

"Don't say it so calmly, Weasley, I'm going to _expel_ you." She said quickly, beginning to pace back and forth slightly, heels loud on the floor and hands clasped in front of her. Suddenly she didn't look as old anymore, not as tall and higher in power. Suddenly she looked quite troubled, lined face twisted up.

"Oh." He paused. Well then," Ron settled himself by the wall, feeling they might be there for a while. "Er, might as well get it over with."

_Please don't expel me. I don't want to go._

But he had to. He wanted to. He didn't want to.

See, this was why Ron wanted her to do it - if he couldn't make the decision, it was better someone else did for him.

_He so fucking wanted to stay, though._

"How can you be so calm about this? I am _expelling you_ \- Hogwarts hasn't done that in more than fifty years, and that was for murder! You haven't murdered anyone!"

As far as you know, professor, he wanted to say, just so she'd expel him faster. _Get it over with already, or I might ask to stay, Professor._ Or maybe it would be better if he did - he wanted to go, after all. Some part of him could see sense.

Christ, if he couldn't even make up his own mind, how was McGonagall supposed to do it? She seemed quite stressed already.

Ron sighed, and faced her with an open expression. "Come on, professor, just expel me already. I know why you'd do it, and I agree. Me being here is too much of a danger."

She moved her hand in a rolling motion, expression skeptical. She had settled into a chair near by the window, on the opposite side of the room. The empty space, the distance between them was glaring. "But..?"

"I do like seeing my friends. And lessons are annoying, but again, I can see the point of 'em. Quidditch, though. And Hogsmeade. And the... temptation," his voice wavered.

She shook her head. "I shouldn't have let you on the team from the start, Weasley. I'm sorry for getting your hopes up." The sunlight from the nearby window appeared mottled on her cloaked form. "Albus is gone again, and I'm not sure what decision to make."

"Things won't be much different either way," said Ron. He let the silence stretch on for a beat. "So should I stay, or not?"

"That, Weasley, is the question," she nodded at him. It suddenly struck him how silly it was, stood in a dusty classroom with broken desks by their side and broken cobblestone beneath their feet and Ron trying to persuade his teacher to expel him. She looked frightened, and unsure, and about fifty years younger.

"All right. Do you want to know what Harry and Hermione think?"

McGonagall gave him a sharper look. "Yes, Weasley, I would."

"They want me to stay. Mostly."

_I do too. I fought for this, I want it._

_Or maybe I don't._

"Mostly doesn't give us an answer, Weasley."

Ron's expression cracked, then. It fractured.

"Can I tell the truth, professor?"

"Of course, Weasley.

"I don't know if I want to do it. I'm too paranoid all the time that someone'll find out, like they did in Hogsmeade and it went all over the papers." He held up his finger, with the ring on it. "I'm worried this'll break, and then I'll be dead in the middle of the courtyard and you'll have to sweep up the ash to take home to my mother." He took in a deep breath. "I don't need to breathe, so I keep forgetting. But I'm worried someone's watching closely and they know it keeps slipping my mind.

"Can you understand? It's all just... _a lot_ ," the emotion turned his voice to a thin wire, taking him by surpise. He coughed, and it helped disperse it somewhat. "I'm... a bit stressed, and I can't sleep at night so it makes it three times as worse. I- I know I'm going on a bit, but I can't bear thinking about how you'll all be dead one day and I won't be." His tone was dismal. "I'll have to go to their funerals one day, professor."

She drew in a sharp breath. "Weasley-"

"But at the same time, I want to be here. I really do. I know there are all kinds of risks and it's really very inconventient, but I just want to be normal."

He felt so wrung out, yet so energised.

"I want to finish school, even if I can never get a job I like or do anything. I just want this one thing."

So tired. McGonagall looked like she understood.

Ron shook his head, and looked up at her imploringly. "It seems silly for me to be so concerned about that when I'll outlive you all, doesn't it? When in a hundred years I'll still look like this. Like Snape said it shifts my priorities. I don't really feel it, though. But then I do. There are times I don't want to be here because no one else understands and I just don't want to hurt anyone."

She watched him, considering him silently.

"Everything's my fault," Ron admitted quietly, to his fingers, curled into fists on his knees. Maybe it was too quiet for her to properly listen (hopefully). "Probably is. I don't know enough yet, about anything."

"It's the guilt, isn't it Weasley?" said McGonagall. She sighed heavily and pressed a hand to her forehead, perhaps where her own guilt lay. Weighing on her temples, her brain, her thoughts, her decisions every minute of the day. "There are things I have done, situations I have made decisions about that could have been wiser. Saved people."

She said it like she knew exactly what he was talking about.

For him, it was his hands. Knowing the blood was painted across them in invisible, immovable ink. A case could be made for the snaking guilt that curled tight in his stomach too; it burned now, and every time he thought about Del, ashes crumpled in the forest. and Ron just shrugged.

"That will come with time, Weasley. Learning how to deal with it." She looked at him, deadly serious. Frown sharp on her face. "But I have to make a decision. And what you did out there was quite unacceptable."

He blinked. Stammered. "Y-yeah. But- don't expel me." Fred and George had certainly done worse in their time here, and they were allowed to stay. But they weren't vampires, he supposed.

Well, he'd said it, hadn't he? Her expression shifted then, and Ron wondered what the verdict would be, the burning need to know more concentrated than the thirst could ever have been.

He swallowed.

Would he be taken from his friends before the year, the mystery, was over?

McGonagall suddenly looked weary and tired. He knew she'd made her decision.

"All right, Weasley. Ron." She drew in a breath, and it steadied her. "You are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Next chapter won't be coming out quickly, it'll be a longer wait than usual. Sorry.
> 
> Thanks again!
> 
> -Tea33 :)
> 
> Also thank you to dz8k, who suggested the idea that both runes on the mirrors and rings would work. Dunno why I didn't quite have the mind to think that, it's way easier. So there. Both runed mirrors and jewellery works.
> 
> Second, Tommy is not Tom Riddle (a.k.a. Voldie). I just came up with a name and only realised that way after, so... yeah. More about that later definitely. Oh, and here is where a lot of my own plot comes in, so plot warning here. Basically don't freak out if we end up in the middle of nowhere and absolutely nothing is canon, hopefully it'll still be good. This will all have roots of canon in and still be not canon, I have no idea how to explain it.


	26. Dance Till You're Dead

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Twenty-Six: Dance Till You're Dead

Ron gaped at her. " _What_?"

"You heard me, Weasley." her expression, her tone, was iron. The indecisiveness from a second ago had vanished. "You're expelled. Pack your things-" he swore for a second he saw her concrete stare waver, but he was likely wrong "-and go. You're finished."

She left the room marching, and Ron felt the pieces of his heart empty, crumple, and fall to the bottom of his chest with a distinct thud. The snake of guilt wormed its way over, and tore its jaws into it, and within another minute the shards were indistinguishable in the belly of the beast.

He felt too many things at once for anything to be distinguished from the mountain of doom caving out his chest. Why was this effecting him so badly? Maybe it would wear off. The realisation that this, other than his family and friends, was the largest part of his old life. It had followed him through his childhood all the way up until this dastardly turning point, and now it was being ripped away from him.

He just felt sad. A great big black hole that sucked the energy from him faster than he could save it.

He fell to the floor, knees hitting it with yet another thud, and his expression couldn't be saved either. That crumbled too, and although this had been the ending he'd been expecting to his time at Hogwarts, he'd thought - no, _known,_ for the longest time - it wouldn't come true.

Ron Weasley, expelled? Ron nearly laughed at his own joke. No way. Except that joke was now his reality.

In his heart, he knew they'd let him stay. They - Remus, McGonagall, Dumbledore - were nicer than that: they were kind. Good. They were on the _good_ side.

Except he'd gotten it wrong, and he didn't belong, and Ron wasn't good anymore. He was bad, and not in the way Cormac McLaggen pretended to be but in the proper way. In that terribly twisted, decrepid way that earned him a spot in hell right alongside Mordecai.

It was sad because even after all the murder, all the deceit, denial, turmoil; all the fakery he'd put his family and himself through, he thought he deserved some happiness.

He knelt there for a few minutes just absorbing it all, numb. Feeling the last of his old life swirl down the drain and wonder what was in the cards for him next. And then he got to his feet, still empty other than the seeping regret, and thought he'd better get packing.

McGonagall did say. It was the last week of term, the last day, in fact: Ron had made it all the way to the end of the Christmas term.

He stared off dully into the distance, eyes glazing over in the gold of the sunset he could examine so well with his new eyes and realised this, being expelled, was the price he'd have to pay for them.

Ron wasn't supposed to be here in the first place. He'd known that. Would it have been better to never have come at all? To never give himself the opportunity to get himself so high up, and then dragged back down again?

No. He tried, at least he'd had these past few weeks to try and pretend things were still all okay. He probably still would after this occasion... but it might take convincing just himself of that fact even longer than it had done before. Maybe that didn't even matter - he had eternity, didn't he?

If he was lucky.

* * *

A while later Ron found himself sat down on his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, the war in his head prompting him to give his hands a rest from stuffing clothes and packing shoes and slotting books into his trunk. He'd had to pack anyway to go back home but this was more final since it was, after all, the last time he'd ever stay in this bed.

Not sleep. Stay; the evil didn't sleep, everyone knew.

He sat down on the bed. Sighed, and pressed his face into his hands. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed the title of the newspaper, and was reminded once again of his recent failure.

Why had he gone out? He'd been told he was on thin ice, told he was on his last straw, the teachers couldn't make any more exceptions for him... and he'd still gone. Ron smiled briefly. It was like a flare of light in the darkening dormitory. He'd had fun with his friends, so maybe that was why he went. Drinks in the three broomsticks, a trip to Zonko's, Honeyduke's... he couldn't think of a better way to spend his last week, although he hadn't known it then.

Perhaps he had known on some level, and that was why he had gone. One last hurrah.

He sighed again. At least McGonagall had dropped asking how he got into Hogsmeade. Trying to explain that would involve dobbing in about another six different people who'd told him about the tunnel in the first place.

Ron stared at the fire grate in front of him, empty. How did this happen, again?

It was like... all his years at Hogsmeade, all his life, he'd believed there was a safety net to fall back on. Like no matter how fucked up things seemed, no matter how close he would come to death, he wouldn't die.

He wouldn't be expelled, no matter what he did. Stupid idea, but it was one he'd held onto for a long while.

He'd always bounce back. Nothing could keep him down for long, there was always a tomorrow, and the stark reality had only been slammed down in front of him last summer.

Harry had never warned him how horrible it was to watch someone die for the first time. It had happened to him a year before, in the graveyard he was so unfond of talking about when he saw someone ripped from the earth in front of him. He never told Ron how time went fucking hayware, slowing down and speeding up and making your heart beat in circles while theirs stopped that first time. Watching someone die wasn't something Ron could ever forget.

He hadn't even had a heartbeat when he stole someone else's.

_Heartless, cruel creature._

His childhood had been stripped away even further than the incoming war had already started come the incident at the Ministry of Magic. Ron couldn't remember much of what happened when he was attacked and shot at, had a tentacled brain very nearly strangle him to death and it was funny, because the _one_ thing he could remember was how slow everything seemed, how time oozed onward like the crawls of a dying insect back to the nest. But looking back, it had all seemed very fast.

Again. Time in a circle, haywire, on the ceiling. Time. Ron had lots of it. Too much to spare.

Sirius died; admittedly the two hadn't been close, but... third year.

He'd woken up in St Mungo's with tentacle marks striped all up his arms with circles and bands criss-crossing each other, contradicting and decorating one another so Ron spent a good ten minutes mapping out the new scars painted up his arms.

Rolling up his sleeves he peered at his forearms, the skin completely bare. He hadn't noticed when they disappeared; they just had. That would be the curse's doing, he knew. It stripped away the dead and injured cells and fixed up its host to be in the best condition they could be - to keep the _curse_ in the best condition it could be in.

Selfish bastard.

Maybe, the marks had disappeared after the skin had been cut up from curses flung by Mordecai. New skin had patched over the top, a plaster of perfection for hiding the lies beneath.

Well, not quite. There was a splodge of ink and what seemed like... gravy? Smeared nearby his elbow from where he'd stuck his arm in it after dinner accidentally and couldn't be bothered to wipe it off, the ink was from where he and Harry had tried to play hangman up his arm in third lesson.

It was pretty good, until they got caught. Just like this whole normal teenager thing had been.

The worst part about this all was that through this whole mess of his expulsion, Ron could understand _why_ McGonagall expelled him. He understood, and he agreed.

Ron was a danger to the other students.

A large part of him still wanted to stay, and work things out for the rest of his education. He wanted to make this work, for fuck's sake, but things hardly ever turned out how you wanted them to - and then never for very long.

He pushed up his shirt sleeves and got back up. Loosened his tie. Ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair.

Ron hadn't misbehaved more than he usually would. A human him. He was still having trouble adjusting, even after all this time.

Maybe he just didn't want to.

Maybe he wanted to be caught and punished by the Ministry, because actually, he was a _killer_ -

He looked back at his trunk and what he'd packed, he didn't remember putting in. His thoughts felt loose and heavy, like the water that circled the drain after a shower. Sluggish and born from the steam, the unknown.

He didn't know what to _do_ anymore.

The final part of his childhood, of him that had been stripped away - the biggest part - had come when he was turned into a vampire. That night he'd gone over a million times in his mind, wondering what he could've done to get a different outcome, one that made things better and not so _bad._

He shut his mouth tight, not wanting to let out the juddering air he'd sucked in in the first place for the fear it would come out as a sob.

He'd imagined things to be better in his future: going to sixth year with Harry and Hermione by his side, his mind free of the clog of a glamour and the sun beating down on them warmly. He imagined a familiar ache in his muscles after a long train ride, one that could be solved by a long night's rest and a warm meal.

Ron hadn't felt warmth in a long time. Not properly - nothing that could restart his bleeding heart.

And he wasn't being dramatic: it really was still and cold in his chest. Connected by deadened tissue kept in a twisted way alive by the curse, the spitting, hissing fire in place of his soul. It warmed itself and not Ron; never Ron.

Selfish fucking bastard.

His world came crashing down that night in the clearing when he was thrown to the floor like nothing, had Mordecai spit in his face telling him he was nothing, when he was able to sneak past his oblivious parents upstairs sodden with blood and torn clothes, the wound on his neck sore. Like his pain was nothing.

He reached up a hand and felt the two familiar indents he'd half forgotten about on his neck. They weren't too obvious, most of the time.

And then, he put the glamour back up.

His life had ended in that day-long sleep, then, and he'd woken up with his organs silent. Ron hadn't known it then, but it was the end of everything for him.

Breakfast he'd tried to stomach, but he couldn't. He'd thrown it all up. Murder he couldn't stomach either - he remembered being so repulsed by what he'd done-

_There was blood on his hands, he was a murderer, can't scrub that away- murderer, killer, blood, blood, it stained there permanently, forever-_

He'd hurled up behind a tree, and the thirst hadn't been so bad back then he needed to replace it. Ron would do now, though, judging by how fast he was going through bottles these days. Several a week, and thank Merlin they were only small.

Honestly, Ron didn't think he could have handled much more. Maybe McGonagall was giving him a chance by expelling him - giving him an opportunity to cut loose his past, and move on. Snape had been the one to say he should adjust his horizons; maybe he was right.

Maybe Ron just had to... get over this.

The lies had been the worst part of all of it. If he wasn't sent to hell for murder, that would do it. The snake, the Slytherin reptile curled in his stomach put there by the curse squirmed uncomfortably every time another classmate asked him if he was all right, because he'd been quiet lately.

Maybe he was just having a hard time, he wanted to snap back. He couldn't just do that, though, because then they'd ask why and Ron would have to lie further. Lies dripped from his tongue like poison, toxic yet sweet, like honey so the people he fed to them to didn't notice.

Lying to Neville, in the infirmary. To his mother, for weeks so that when she finally learned the truth she broke down entirely. His sister, his father, but thankfully not his friends.

Why were they still friends with him, was anyone's guess. Before he could stop his feet from taking him there he was wrenched in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his starkly pale face in the mirror.

Often he caught himself wondering why he could move so fast again, why he didn't get hungry for food and why his heart didn't move, and then reality caught up again.

Damn it, he was pale. Ron stared at himself and lifted off the glamour-

Blood red eyes. His breath ( _you don't even need it_ ) hitched. Teeth, sharpened to a point and ebony bright like bone, bright white and flashing in the same instance. But here in the mirror of a dark bathroom, they were dimmed. He stared and his pupils were lost in the crevices of his eyes. He stared and stared until he couldn't see himself anymore, and a flare of anger swallowed him up in a second, a heartbeat.

Ron saw the flash of it in his eyes, a luminescent crimson hazard before he drew back his fist like a pistol and rammed it into the mirror, hissing as it shattered.

Shards exploded across the room, the glittering flecks spattered across the room. Ron stared at them, sullen and empty. He looked back at the now empty mirror, wooden back appearing cavernous. He caught the flash of his ring and looked down, seeing the scrawl put there by Mordecai.

The rune so he could see himself in a bloody mirror. The curse needed a little extra help with the whole making you visible thing, like he said-

Selfish bastard.

But it seemed like no matter where he tried to escape it, the curse kept coming back. And now he'd broken a mirror-

_Why? It won't fix anything-_

Because apparently, he was still having trouble controlling his temper too if this afternoon's display with Malfoy had been anything to go by.

"Who would've guessed," he said to the empty mirror, and felt like breaking down when he saw nothing in return.

Maybe he just needed to get over it.

But Ron felt wild, angry, loose. He felt helpless above all, spiralling into dust while nobody helped him because they didn't want to see.

He stared at the empty mirror, and then downwards. Lifting up his hand he saw chunks of mirror buried in his knuckles, the same hands he'd killed a person with and thrown Malfoy against the cobbles with earlier today ( _the straw that broke the camel's back_ , a voice in his head hummed) and Ron began to roughly scraped the shards from them, desperate to get it out before it healed over with the glass trapped underneath.

He did it bluntly, unfeelingly, picking out the rubble, the carnage in a callous manner. He was too used to the pain by now: he'd had to pull himself through it a thousand times during the nights he spent with Mordecai.

He watched his knuckles heal over with a detached demeanour that only came with practice.

"Reparo," he muttered, barely pointing his wand at the mirror and feeling the fragments fly past his face as he left the small bathroom. He wiped the blood on his cloak, uncaring of the stain when everything else seemed to be in tatters.

Not quite sure where he was going, he twisted past his trunk and headed for the door. He went down the stairs, and out of the painting.

Maybe he should just get over this. Get on with his life, or what he had of it to live.

It felt harsh, but with him having no chance of catching up to Mordecai (where to even start? The Order had found little to go on, what could he ever do?) he thought there was little else to do but leave the man, with all the torment he'd gone through, behind him. As best he could.

If he'd done that, would he have been able to keep his head down better this term, having accepted the changes and what that meant for his school behaviour? What had been asked of him wasn't exactly difficult, or demeaning.

Ron walked along the corridor; he had to get away from the dormitory for a bit. He had no idea where he was going, but what else was new?

* * *

Ron went up the corridors quickly, passing almost no one in the corridors, but they didn't notice him.

In the background he heard dinner commencing in the Great Hall. He couldn't pick out Hermione's voice from the fray, but he would bet it was there. She would be wondering where he was, but otherwise unknowing of what had happened to him.

He'd been expelled.

( _What?_ )

And he still wasn't over it. Any of it. He should use all those months he'd have stuck at home to try and do that - it might be easier with his family. Maybe then, he could sleep.

He saw a door up ahead. And recognised it - Dumbledore's office, and there were voices behind it. Pressing his ear up against the door he began to listen.

Eavesdropping. If he was caught, he'd be-

What? Expelled?

So Ron just stayed there, listening, curiosity fighting down the urge to go and do what he was told, and pack his bags.

"-Been missing for more than a day now. Miss Herron says she last saw him Thursday lunchtime, but that doesn't give us much. He could've disappeared earlier today too."

He heard a deep sigh, and recognised it belonged to Dumbledore. Made sense: it was his office.

"I admit, Minerva, I am not particularly worried. The boy - Tommy, I mean - most likely decided to explore the castle and became lost in the labyrinth. It happens all the time."

"I realise, Albus, but his family will be expecting him home tomorrow evening!" McGonagall nearly shouted. "We need to get him home before tomorrow - we need to _find_ him before tomorrow."

A rustling. "Yes, Minerva, you're entirely right. But... it is odd he hasn't been found by now. Have the paintings been enlisted to help?"

"They have, Albus. But he hasn't been found."

"What about the statues? Filch? I know he goes on nightly rounds."

She made a noise. Slightly impatient, huffy, with the crackling undercurrent of tension. "Nothing other than a knight which came to my quarters early this morning, almost frantic. I followed where he wanted me to go, and he took me to the fourth floor in the east side."

"The old Astronomy classroom?"

Ron could imagine McGonagall nodding. "Yes. I checked that room, went round every inch of it and there was nothing. The only paintings there were damaged or empty of people, or didn't see anything, so they were no help."

A pause. "There isn't anything else on that corridor, is there? Nowhere else he could be?"

"No. Some pillars, an end table, a mirror. But that's it."

Ron paused. He thought hard, and-

The mirror, on the fourth floor. The passageway he knew that lay behind it, hearing of it from his father and Sirius later when he offered a place for them to hold the DA. The odd noise he'd heard the other day while on the fourth floor. To the east. He'd stared into the mouth of a wide, dark corridor and turned away again.

The tunnel was caved in, inaccessible... but had anyone checked it in a while? With time and magic and tools, it could be worn down. Ron wasn't sure what he was doing there knowing he would get into such trouble if he was found

Ron froze, limbs feeling out of place and clumsy. He felt too small for his skin, at the same time like his head was bursting from it, skull slipping from the casing.

 _Fuck_.

He had really missed this one, hadn't he? And still, Ron didn't know the details, didn't know what all this was for, or who by. Was there something to miss?

How had the kid gotten through that passageway? How had he known the spells necessary? Or had it been someone else?

What passageway? What if the kid just got lost, nothing more?

Ron was terribly, woefully confused still, and it was going to cost him. He knew. But he could still feel the helpless, useless feeling of being a burden in his veins, and wished he hadn't been such a headache for everyone.

Too many questions, so little time. But one thing was for sure - he had to go and check out that corridor McGonagall talked about. He didn't want to sit here and be useless. He wanted to bring back this kid and maybe... maybe they would let him back into the school.

Maybe it was just desperation talking, but either way, Ron entirely forgot about the dance.

He remembered the last words of the conversation he had eavesdropped on.

"I need to leave again Minerva. I expect you'll be able to run the school amicably, and-"

"What? You can't go now, Albus, Hogwarts needs you-"

And Ron could hear the tired smile in his voice. "I'm sure you will survive for a few hours; what I'm doing is terribly important. I will be back soon. Take care, professor."

McGonagall was busy. She didn't have time to run around after lost first years, so if Ron had the skills, why not sort this all out on his own? He just had to go into the tunnel, find him, and bring him back again. He had to still be in there (right?) Since a kid just wandering around Hogsmeade would be found within hours.

He just had to do this.

Let him have this _one_ thing, and Ron could prove to them all he was still worth something. He wasn't evil. He was still _good_.

* * *

Ron sprinted down and along the corridors, flying down staircases and again seeing no one as he did so. He didn't stop for anyone, not until he reached the next corridor entrance. Where he finally stopped.

There were far too many corridors in Hogwarts. He knew where the mirror was, but not how to get to it exactly; Ron could have really used the Marauder's map right now. But that might take longer to find than just searching manually (as Harry had hidden it from him and Hermione, because she kept taking it so he couldn't watch Malfoy - she said it wasn't healthy to have an obsession that kept you up all night - and Ron did favours too easily, like taking the map, especially for Hermione), and Ron couldn't live with knowing he could've found the kid and failed to do so.

Well, overstatement. He'd always live, whether he wanted to or not.  
No matter the guilt.

Nonetheless after what felt like hours of searching, he'd made stood outside the main section, branching off into a separate corridor, and waited. This was like part two of earlier, except now he was expelled. And he'd broken a mirror now, and he felt a little better about everything. Mostly.

Something was going on, and this kid shouldn't be wandering about for it.

Merlin, just let him do this one thing - he had to.

McGonagall had already looked around here, except Ron could hear things she couldn't, and knew there was a passageway _behind_ the mirror. It was probably blocked, but hopefully not difficult charms since his father had been able to get through them.

Tommy must have been... talented, then, to undo them.

He began to move, red Gryffindor tie flapping out behind him as he again flew down the corridors. Again the dance flickered to the forefront of his mind; would Hermione be waiting for him? It would start soon, wouldn't it? Ron should've gone to talk to her, tell her why he couldn't meet her-

_"You've been expelled? Really?"_

He could imagine the hurt in her eyes now, the disbelief, the disappointment. The realisation he wouldn't be there next year. The crushing he felt in his chest he couldn't see her again once term started.

He would tell her later, when he'd found the kid and calmed down a bit.

Letters could only go so far. Maybe that was for the best, though. To stop anything happening like what had occurred that night on the tower. One of the best nights of his life, maybe, but he'd never admit that to anyone.

He actually had decent dress robes this time, too. Pretty expensive and silky, just plain black. Definitely much better than the ones he'd worn for the ball in fourth year.

Christ. He never wanted to look at those again.

He wasn't wearing them now but his school uniform, loose from the long day and without a robe. Ron couldn't get cold but still he wrapped his arms around himself, knowing he was heading for something odd. Dangerous, perhaps.

And the silent, dark castle was... mildly spooky.

God, what was he saying? He'd been a dark forest with a murderer, this shouldn't freak him out. Ron shook out his hands, anticipation building up in his fingertips.

There was something going on, and after the months of nothi- what was that?

Ron turned, eyeing the walls around him with clear suspicion. Did he just hear something? A whisper? Ron got out his wand, gripping it firmly in his hand and muttering a short " _Lumos_ ," to quickly light it up.

Telling the teachers was stupid, he told himself as he moved on, more cautious than ever, stunner on his lips. They would tell Ron not to look for the boy who in their minds got lost in an empty classroom somewhere, and to pack instead. And then he would be sent home early to avoid the shame for everyone involved.

Was he still going back on the train? He hoped so.

The corridor around him was getting darker. He blew out a breath, and it misted up in front of him. Ron saw the candles adorning the walls becoming fewer and the distance between them further, and a suit of armour hunched next to the wall close to him. Spattered grey against greyer cobble.

He went and stood next to it, tried to speak to it. But it wouldn't respond.

"Hello?" he asked. The visor stayed shut, metal glinting in what light there was.

Not the right one. Ron swallowed and, his sense of dread increasing tenfold, tightened his grip on his wand and walked away to the next.

He went deeper into the castle, perhaps farther than he had done before. The castle wasn't this big on the outside, was it? It had never looked nor felt that way, but Ron supposed it had to be. Magic.

Finally he heard a clanking up ahead, right when the sounds of the rest of the school had long faded out of hearing range and sped up.

How deep in the labyrinth was he?

" _Hello_?" he asked, more urgent this time. A rustle in the darkness, insistent and squeaking. Hurting.

Dying.

Ron peered round the corner by the light of his wand, having lit it some time ago and holding it ahead of him like a baton because secretly, despite the fact he'd been a dark forest with a psychotic murderer, he couldn't bear the darkness whispering at him, imagining what could be crawling there; it wasn't like prowling the rest of the school where he was familiar with his environment; walking around the bowels of a silent, cold castle was different.

Suddenly, saw yet another suit of armour... but this one was different.

It shook and jerked violently, but its limbs hardly moved. They couldn't. Although they flailed terribly they were held back by something, arms stuck by its sides and entire body stuttering like a robot's. Ron was sure if it could speak, it would be shouting. The stone pedestal its feet were nailed to had scratches and dents in it, as did the surrounding walls.

It looked tortured, was what Ron would say. Helmet bashed in at one angle and its hands empty it looked to be in agony.

Empty hands... Normally it would have a shield or sword, right?

He stared at it with a stricken expression. "Are you all right?"

The knight didn't move, continued jolting like it had been electrocuted.

Ron's arm moved to touch the metal, its main plate and he couldn't. He tried again, pushing against it and yet again he was barred by something. Again he pulled back his fist and tried slamming his arm into it the same way he had totalled the mirror, but it didn't work. Ron tried time after time, fingers eventually mapping out a fine bubble of protection around the knight.

_What the hell was going on here?_

He heard another noise. He whipped his head round, lumosed wand revealing the crevices and darkened corners but no other presence. Ron could still hear it, though - a gentle creeping, and resolved to get out of here as soon as possible.

He tried casting spells, next, but nothing worked. He stood there casting away for a solid few minutes before concluding he was finally out of options.

His expression was one of utter disbelief. "Who did that to you?"

The knight didn't answer, still shaking ( _with terror_ ) from underneath the protective bubble.

It couldn't, Ron realised. Not even a nod of its head or wave of its arm. It was stuck in place.

Staring around the corridor he saw nothing: no paintings other than scratched, empty, torn frames and a single bowl of decaying fruit in oil paint, and he could smell little but the dust and putrid mould held sickeningly fast in the air. The only source of light was a torch about twenty feet back, and that was barely a flicker. A single sorry torch hung on the wall beside him with its end splintered and crushed, a large gouge swallowing the stones around it.

Clearly, no one had been here in what looked like years.

Ron looked at it all strangely. He was beginning to see why McGonagall was skeptical of any kid coming this far back; it was nearly miles, and there was nothing here save for that lonely knight. If you were alone wandering the halls at night, why would you ever come this far back? Down this many twists and turns without any kind of light without thinking, 'should I not turn back?'

True to McGonagall's word there was an empty classroom some feet back, but he didn't even bother checking the door. It was warped, and he couldn't hear anything anyway.

He couldn't hear _anything_ here. Perhaps other than that shivering knight.

But there was nothing he could do for it, so he turned away. And his gaze latched onto a mirror on the opposite wall several feet to the side with edges licked with lint, the surface so tarnished it was hardly reflective anymore. Again large scratches and scrapes littered the shiny section of it, wide ornate (wood, he presumed) sides equally as attacked-looking.

Ron went and stood in front of it. And wondered if, perhaps, he had been stupid and just wasted half an hour walking around some abandoned section of the castle (there were a few, hence why people got lost so often) thinking there was something to be found when there simply _wasn't_.

Still, there was one thing to try. Only one thing to do. Ron steadied his hand and reached out to the mirror, reaching, reaching, inching for it-

His hand hit the solid mirror surface, and he withdrew it back again.

Huh.

He blinked. Tried again, just in case, but still nothing happened. He stood there with his fingertips against the dusty surface of the mirror and felt the sharp pain of panic in his stomach immediately began to dissipate, and he could breathe again. But then it returned again.

Where on earth was this kid?

Not here, clearly. He tried the few spells that he knew, waving his wand around and it produced nothing. He... felt something inside of him give. Give up.

So Ron turned around, ignoring the vibrating statue (what could he do? He'd tried a few hefty diffindos and whatnot and again, _nothing worked_ , not even a hard punch. Nothing could get through that barrier) and pondered his options.

The fifth floor. He might work through there next looking for this Tommy kid; he might as well, seen as he'd already started; as a vampire his enhanced senses made him the perfect person to manage this headhunt; maybe he would talk to Harry and Hermione about it first-

_Go back, Ron._

He paused.

Turned around again, staring into the dark corridor.

Why was this worth coming back to?

_There's something there._

Ron felt his stomach turn, and he'd taken a few steps in the direction he felt he had to go before he stopped.

There was _nothing_ down there. Why was his gut instinct telling him differently?

Ron stopped to think, still not turning back. Perhaps the sensible thing to do was go and tell Harry and Hermione. He had to tell Harry about Malfoy anyway, that he had been right... but in the events of the past few hours he'd entirely forgotten about it all.

Maybe, just to appease this voice inside his head telling him something was wrong down there, he would check the empty classroom. Try a few more spells on the mirror and locked up knight. Maybe he'd get a step closer to finding Tommy.

Ron nodded to himself, beginning to walk down past the knight (now shaking even harder if that were possible, making a faint rattling noise) and closer to the mirror, extinguishing his wand so he could cast a brighter one but stopped. He glanced into the mirror again, into the corner where he'd seen a flicker of... something.

Ron clenched his jaw, and after scrutinising the empty wall behind him, he drew his wand tightly into a duelling position, ready to shoot at anything that moved. Because although he could hear no movement, there was a quiet whispering at the back of his mind that rung almost silently in his eardrums.

He could still hear it, though. And it put him on edge that whatever he was hearing might not be human; it was far too quiet for that.

Hopefully, it was just a ghost. He stared straight ahead into the grimy surface, just a few spots spared here and there, and realised how direly it needed to be cleaned; it was like there was two of him there. Ron pulled a confused face in the mirror, and saw his copy, his duplicate a little darker than him, hanging behind, wobble. Shift. Its face was half hidden in shadow, so all Ron could see was his own face.

_Turn around. Turn, now, you should turn-_

He frowned. No. He had to see if he could open the passageway; usually there was a specific spell to open these types of things... a key word. If he couldn't figure that out, he was done for. Ron looked back at the mirror and saw how his doppelganger was smiling, the gesture rictus, strained.

Odd.

It was like a Muggle circus mirror, the ones Hermione and Harry had described that made you all wavy in some or tall as the roof in others. It was like this, but in it you'd have a second skin.

Ron licked his lips. The breath had been stolen from him as he stared, trying to decipher whether the mirror was just unclean or it- it-

Or there really was something there.

The shadow didn't care, it just continued smiling, a little strainedly, a little hungrily.

_Fucking turn around already, turn around, turnaroundturnaroundturn-_

He looked again. His heart sank. He saw himself at a distance, from the corner of the room looking down.

What? No, come on, don't be ridiculous-

 _Justturnaroundturnaroundturn_ around, _for Merlin's sake-_

The eyes were red behind him. At first Ron thought the glamour had come down, but he looked and saw his own were still blue.

Couldn't, can't, it shouldn't, it wouldn't be him but he turned and finally recognised the face behind him, freezing-

_TURNAROUNDTURNAROUNDTURNAROUND-_

SHUT UP! I WILL!

He wouldn't. Couldn't, in that second.

It was the face that haunted him in everything he did, the thing he imagined crawling behind him as he wandered the fourth floor, sticking to the wall each time he swivelled round to check.

The noise in the back of his head. The faint shuffling.

Ron's stomach clenched; his throat felt too thick to breathe through-

_Lucky you don't need to-_

Be quiet. It was the face he saw every time he looked to the clearing in the Burrow, every time he came to after being destroyed one too many times and broken like a flimsy china dolly by Mor- by Mor-

He was still stood in the mirror like an idiot, vision fixed on that second face. One arm was still stretched up, skating along the edge of the mirror in hopes of stumbling upon a rune he knew to allude to him the keyword.

That face was what he saw when he closed his eyes, when he imagined what he would be like in a hundred years. When he drunk the blood too fast or when the girl on the opposite team broke her arm and blood poured from her sleeve, he saw this. This face, those spider-like fingers, the matted hair and the coat and the sharp teeth and the eyes, the blood red eyes-

_TURNAROUNDTURNAROUNDTURN-_

_He was thinking too loud, Mordecai was going to hear him._

"Don't be ridiculous _,_ " he somehow muttered to himself through all the distress. Ron paled, face a ghostly white.

Like bone (snap).

The sharp face behind him smiled wider, and tutted. "You think too much, Ron. I can _hear_ you."

The syllables were soft, even soothing for a second. And then the steel ice behind the tone grated the insides of Ron's eardrums, skin and wax peeling up in neat crisp rolls and his entire system shuddered.

On the outside, he still hadn't moved.

_He needed to move, what was he doing what was he doing- was he doing anything?_

He watched as a hand came up behind him, fingers spread wide like a spider's legs, angular and piercing and needle-like behind him, powerless to do anything than be gripped by the fear.

He suddenly squeaked, muscles tore free of the terror - he could do this, he could cast a spell, stun Mordecai and get himself away, yes that's right, pick up your hand too, move it in the mirror, swish it and watch the sparks knock him out-

He half had the words for a stunner on his lips, was thinking of combining it with incendio because he'd been working on doing that, recently- he would _win_ this, could feel the fear turning to strength in his bones

And then the hand in the reflection snapped its bony fingers around his neck, and Ron's world went blank.

* * *

Hermione stood in the centre of the dancefloor with nothing to do. People whirled past, the party in full swing, but she just swallowed nervously and clenched the bag in her hands tighter.

She'd long lost Harry and his date, Luna who, the last time she'd seen them were wandering about talking to people. It had been Neville if she remembered correctly.

Here she was, stood waiting with her hands clasped over her front, in a blue dress she'd bought earlier this year at Diagon Alley. She was holding a loose beaded bag, too, just to store her wand in. Her hair was styled into tight curls this time - different to the slicked-down style she'd had at the Yule Ball. Mainly because that stuff had taken _weeks_ to all rinse out.

Hermione sighed. She thought she cleaned up pretty nicely, overall. But... here she was, stood waiting. Not going to the dance with her friends - waiting.

She didn't want to think about the fact that maybe, just maybe, Ron had stood her up. The last time she'd seen him it had been lunchtime, what with the different schedules.

Where the hell was he?

Hermione still didn't know how she felt about him. Every time she thought she knew, he did something different and it all changed again.

He'd been vicious in that duel with Zabini, properly vicious. Hurling spells like he was somewhere else, body moving automatically to swerve around the spells and just that shred of humanity left to show sympathy enough for Zabini not to kill him.

It had made her pity Zabini, for being his opponent. And for Ron, for being gruellingly trained to react like that.

She could remember the dread unfurling in her stomach as she watched the proceedings of the duel, watched both of them hurt and hurt each other. Tension had roiled through the courtyard and infected everyone there.

Mordecai. If she ever met the man, she'd hurt him, and make sure he never hurt anyone else ever again.

It was such a contrast to how Ron. normally was. Rash but still kind enough. Ron Weasley, her best friend for years; the two of them would debate for hours, and he never tired. She found it refreshing to most people, whose conversation topics were afraid to be interesting.

There was tension between them now, but Hermione didn't think it would prevent Ron from being her partner at a dance. They were just going... as friends.

(She would be lying if he said it didn't hurt a little. She'd been spurned by so many people deeming her too odd to talk to she couldn't help but be reminded of it a little.)

Hermione sighed, and then caught herself. What was she doing? She was at a dance, what was she stood in a corner sulking for?

Her date wasn't going to turn up. So she straightened her shoulders, sharpened her gaze, and prepared to have a night to enjoy herself. First, she went to talk to Ginny by the drinks table.

She smiled as she drew near enough. "Hi, Ginny."

"Oh, hi Hermione." Ginny smiled at her, and then she looked behind her. "Where's Ron?" she asked, a slight frown picking at her eyebrows. She knew who Hermione had been preparing to go to the dance with.

"I was going to ask you that." She stared at her elbow with forced interest, hair falling in her face slightly. "He didn't... er, he's not here."

Hermione felt Ginny reaching hand out to pat her shoulder, sad smile on her face. When she spoke her tone was softer.

"My brother can be an idiot sometimes," she said. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Hermione told her, tone perfunctory. "It's fine. Not the end of the world. But I... he seemed excited to go, you know?"

"You'll be all right," Ginny reassured her, and Hermione nodded. "Maybe he's just late. He better be. I have to go now, Dean's waiting for me."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're still going out with Dean?"

Ginny shushed her, glancing at the people milling around them, robes fine and gowns glittering under the golden lights. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, face faintly red like Hermione hadn't seen the way she talked to Harry constantly during Quidditch practice for the past few weeks and walked away.

The party was in Horace Slughorn's office, the expanded walls wrapped in gaudy silk and fairy lights. Servers wandered about with platters of food and drink, and Slughorn himself stood near the top of the room, chest puffed out in pride and moustache turned up at the decadence of it all.

Hermione pulled a face. She wasn't particularly fond of him, nor did she hate him. He was okay.

Where was Ron, though? She had the oddest feeling that something was wrong - she just didn't think Ron was the type to stand someone up, especially not... her.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Or maybe he was doing the right thing here, cutting off the flourishings of anything other than platonic feelings.

But still, standing her up?

Hermione decided to look to Harry - one to ask him if he knew where Ron was, and two because she felt awkward standing in the middle of a dance floor alone. Cormac McLaggen and some other sixth year twirled around the dance floor, and she shuddered, imagining if she had taken him up on his offer and gone with him.

He'd asked her after double Charms one Wednesday afternoon, and she had turned him down almost immediately he became immediately affronted, demanding why not, and she had very nearly hexed him.

Even if she could never be with Ron, she would never have gone with him. He was far too arrogant for her ever to consider him.

She frowned. Could things ever work?

Ron was a vampire. She was human. Things quite clearly did not work out; they could _never_ work out, so she shouldn't even be considering this. She would only be setting herself up for heartbreak.

She knew that. She also knew that he was still Ron, the boy she'd started blushing pink about sometime in third year. Despite the vampirism he was still the boy who had sacrificed himself for his friends more times than Hermione could count, could be annoying and arrogant but in the end proved himself to be more than that, the boy who despite everything that had happened to him still wanted the same things. Hermione was fond of the dependibility of him.

He was still the boy who she had chuckled for hours on end with during long lessons, homework sessions in front of the fire; someone who wouldn't get tired of helping her study for her OWLs although they both knew she'd studied enough; the one to gently pull her away from those studies when they threatened to swallow her whole.

The same boy who had stood up for her when Snape or the Slytherins wouldn't leave her be, the same one who, when he made mistakes would apologise and make it up to the person he had hurt. Ron could be simple, but he was more than that. Just most people didn't bother to try looking. He still was warmth to her even when things were cold.

Ron wasn't perfect, and neither was she, and over the years they'd fallen out many times. Giving a relationship a go would've been... it would've been...

It didn't matter what it would've been, because now it was out of sight.

Hermione turned and saw two men she'd never seen before stood beside Slughorn.

"Ah! Miss Granger!" he called, beckoning her over with one thick wrist, glass of champagne sat in the other. Slughorn beamed at her as she walked over cautiously. One of the men turned, and she saw his eyes were red.

She twitched, forbidding herself from making a sound. Not even a squeak because she could recognise this creature at once. She would know those blood-red irises anywhere.

That was a _vampire_.

Hermione would have known it anywhere, from spending all her time around one and reading as many books as she did. Her heart raced under the material of her dress, and she quickly looked away. Only slightly, so as not to draw the vampire's attention but Ron had told her and Harry of a vampire's affinity for the mind arts.

It was eerie, she thought, eyes scanning his robes. She hadn't even spared a glance for the other man, a balding, grey-haired wizard past middle-aged. But the vampire (she was _sure_ of it) was so similar to Ron, in the way he stared about the room speculatively, movements calculated and smooth without them seeming to realise they were doing it.

However what set Ron and this vampire apart was how much cooller the latter seemed. This vampire's movements were almost jolting they were that precise, cold emanating from him and his motionless expression.

Like a robot. Then the eyes were on her, and Hermione very nearly shrieked. She managed to hold it in, swallowing down her shock instead. She looked away, all too aware of how the curse gave them talent in the mind arts.

The eyes were almost identical. Again though, this vampire's eyes were darker somehow, like staring into a cavernous tunnel with no light at the end.

It was like seeing what what Ron might look like in the future. If he lost the parts of himself that kept the tunnel lit ( _what parts were they?_ )

Would he turn that cold after another ten years living off blood? Twenty? Fifty?

Longer?

Another reason why the two of them together would be a disaster. Hermione would die (putting it bluntly) long before Ron would. It was just depressing to think about, for the both of them. They'd just end up lonely.

Slughorn chuffed. "Don't look quite so alarmed, Miss Granger." He turned to the human wizard, who looked quite amused by the whole situation. Hermione clenched one fist, wanting to reach for the wand stowed in her purse; the vampire clocked it at once, red eyes tracing the movement.

He looked wild, with a tattered robe on and matted, equally dark hair. He looked... hungry, and Hermione didn't like it.

Slughorn continued on. "This is my good friend and former student, Eldred Worple and his... vampiric companion, Sanguini. I suppose you've worked that out already - didn't I tell you she was clever, Eldred?"

The man sniffed, and looked down at her by his nose. She found that after the murky green eyes had hardly swept over her once that she rather disliked Worple.

"Muggleborn, is she?" he sniffed again. "You can just _tell,_ can't you?"

Slughorn laughed a little uncomfortably, and some third year swung round with a tray of more drinks. Both Slughorn and Worple were in an instant mightily interested, but Sanguini, the vampire whose name didn't quite suit him, was still staring at her.

He held out one hand, spidery thin and pale as the blaring lights above and the snow gathered about the banks of the school. He grinned widely, stiffly, showing off pointy teeth.

Ron had never smiled quite like that.

"A pleasure to meet you," he muttered sharply, head tilted to the front so the locks fell forward. His tone was cutting and yet muted all at once, like if he were to speak louder it would twist and fracture into something animalistic and ragged and out of control.

Ron didn't sound quite like that either.

Hermione's nostrils quivered, and she felt herself frowning slightly, trying to look annoyed in order to cover up her fear.

If this was how vampires generally were, she could understand the general distaste towards vampires. Why so many feared them. When he looked at her like that, like she was something to be devoured, eaten, torn apart, bones licked clean and blood drained and meat _savoured_ -

She could understand the terror they struck into so many hearts.

Ron could never be like that, she was sure. He was too pure for that.

A thought hit her, then, and Hermione wished it hadn't. Was he? Could she know for sure?

For a mad, utterly insane second she considered shaking his proffered hand, but withdrew it quickly. She could feel the poison seeping from this man... this monster, and would not touch it. He stared at her. "I can't hurt you," he said, words forced and yet so elegant still. "I'm chained up. Look. They made me human."

Hermione did look, and saw the shackles around his wrists. They were an unpleasant copper-tinged colour, and looped tightly around each of his wrists in thin enough bands with runes on, spikes and sharp pieces.

It was true, what Sanguini said. Hermione had seen models in her books - they blocked the ultra fast speed, removed the heightened senses; to a vampire it was like being blind. The metal was an odd tinge due to its blend of metals, for maximum magic repellent and as a mutation of the ordinary wizarding handcuffs that prevented magic use.

She'd heard they were unpleasant. To a vampire it was like being blind, deaf and unable to smell or feel things properly. But the one thing it could not fix was the thirst for blood, and Sanguini would still be able to tear her apart, especially at this distance. It just evened the playing field and then put the vampires down some (or werewolf, whoever was wearing the cuffs) down to Muggle level. In a duel, they would be finished in less than seconds.

Behind her the party continued on in a polite, pleasant manner, unaware of this thing that stared at her like he could see her soul. Like it could see her soul.

She looked up with what she hoped was a steely glare that could level even this demon's. "How did you get into the castle?" she asked, and it laughed, showing off a rim of shining silver teeth.

"I had an invite."

"They wouldn't invite you."

He laughed again, so Slughorn looked round at the loud, raucous guffaw that sounded so unnatural pouring from the vampire's lips.

Hermione licked her own lips, getting dry from fear she was doing a pretty good job of repressing.  
"Your name's not Sanguini, is it?" she said quickly, and the vampire suddenly stopped dead.

It wavered for the first time that night, something foreign and unspeakably dangerous flashing in his musky, wine-coloured eyes. Wine that tasted metallic, and far too warm and not nearly as fruitish. That wine would be the inhumane collections of human blood pooled there in his irises, exactly what refreshed this monster's pallate.

Ron had to drink that too.

He turned his head, matted hair shifting again. Hermione stared at them, holding her head up high.

"Clever, aren't you?" he said, voice too heady and quiet to be heard by anyone but her, and she knew it was a threat. Suddenly she felt stupid stood there in her blue dress, hair styled nicely for the evening.

She felt a sinking in her chest.

Something was terribly, terribly _wrong_.

A sharp intake of breath behind her, and Slughorn hovered his hand in front of her. He faced the two and angled himself between them all.

"Gentlemen," he said. "I think we should release Miss Granger from this conversation now, don't you agree?"  
Neither looked particularly happy about it, but Hermione was overjoyed to escape.

As she turned and left, she glanced back at them all one last time. Worple looked bored, apathetic to the party; Slughorn's smile was baleful, but underneath his face was ashen grey and there was a clear look in his eyes that told her she needed to _go._

He wasn't half as drunk as she thought, then.

Her opinion of him was raised slightly by that. Slughorn could come across greedy and proud, but he had something good in him she knew. As afraid of conflict as he could be, Slughorn would do what needed to be done.

She was grateful for him giving her an out to the conversation, especially as the pair of red eyes latched onto her walking away.

Hermione reached into her bag and didn't let go again until she was sure the creature's eyes were off of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find out what on earth happened to Ron next time.
> 
> Thanks again,
> 
> -Tea33 :)
> 
> Also title from a song you'll probably all know (Heads Will Roll, by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and then there's that remix) but I just thought about the party and danger, and voila, the title. My amazing thought process. Also I'm sorry for leaving you all on a cliffhanger; I think I do that every week, though.


	27. Taken

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Stolen

"Just a quarter of a mile further, Mordecai. You'll survive."

He frowned. "Obviously. It's you I'm worried about - when was the last time you walked further than pacing round your cell in Azkaban?"

Rodolphus threw a mildly scathing look behind him to where Mordecai walked half a step behind, but he knew the other's manner well enough after all these years to not be stung by the remark. The path swallowing the ground and hills around them, downtrodden and an earthy colour amongst the verdant greenery looked thousands of miles long as it stretched ahead of them. Mordecai moved with his shoulders hunched, narrow frame burrowed into that moth-eaten coat of his he refused to take off.

Rodolphus sighed. It was going to be a long night, especially with a mute walking partner. He frowned at the back of Mordecai's head, now turned to the hills, and began to think. About how he'd ever come to be friends with someone so... unlike him.

He thought, and it passed the time.

He smirked over his shoulder to where Mordecai stepped swiftly along a foot or so behind.

"Remember when we robbed that bank? The Muggle place, the first time?"

Mordecai's gaze snapped up to meet Rodolphus', bloody pupils a little disconcerting even after all this time. "The one you got cut off from the family accounts for a week for?"

"That's the one. Remember Cecily?"

"Yes." His tone went slightly odd. "I killed her." He didn't sound sorry. "I didn't mean to - she just died." Mordecai looked amused. "Why, does that bother you?"

"What?" He pivoted one expensive shoe in the gravel to face him fully. Rodolphus had a confused expression on his face, the crow's feet around his eyes creased. "Is that why she didn't turn up to meet Rabastan?"

"Her and Rabastan were going to go on out?" said Mordecai, curious, in a detached way.

"Yes. Emphasis on the 'were going to' part, because you _killed her_." Rodolphus shook his head, looking out at the castle coming out on the path ahead of them. But maybe it was for the best - she was a half-blood, after all. Couldn't have her getting attached."

Funnily enough, this wasn't the first time it had happened. Being friends with a vampire had its disadvantages.

"Did he end up married?" asked Mordecai. "I know you and Bella, and Lucius married that... blonde one. Who did Rabastan marry?"

"No one," replied Rodolphus. "He was betrothed to a Mulciber, but she died before the wedding. It wasn't much of a shame, she was a troll. Then other things got in the way before we could sort something else out."

He wouldn't bother asking Mordecai if he married anyone - he had never been the type for it. _Any_ of it; in the years and years Rodolphus had known him he had never heard of him going about with _anyone_.

Up ahead Rodolphus caught the castle in all its golden-lighted glory, turrets peaked against the velvet sky and each window bright. The whole thing was dipped in snow, melting off the walls and gumming to the castle perimeter; underneath it all, Mordecai could feel the faint hum of thick wards stamped around the grounds, too many to fight through without an entire army. But no matter.

"Do you know the plan?" Mordecai asked him, expression stone.

Rodolphus nodded seriously. They couldn't fuck this up while the consequences didn't bear thinking about.

"For Slughorn's party tonight, he's expecting one vampire and its watcher, and that's who'll turn up. Sanguini and Eldred Worple, a friend of his. I'll be Worple, the human, obviously." Rodolphus reached into his coat, and lifted out a hair: it was grey and wiry, encased in a small glass tube.

"A few hours ago I visited him and took this. He's currently sprawled out on his kitchen floor after I stupefied him when he answered the door and I altered his memories. That will give us an alibi. They can say they went to the party. No one will ever notice anything was wrong."

Mordecai picked it up then, cold. "We're going in by the gates. They'll be too distracted by a vampire to check you too invasively; if you show your control over me, they'll let us in." Mordecai grimaced. "And the real vampire?"

"Still locked downstairs. I sent down a message to the cellar Worple keeps him warded in to say the event was off."

"Cellar?" His nose wrinkled in distaste. "So Worple locks him up and brings him out every so often to be... what? A party trick?"

"Sounds like it. But you lot don't like doing much else do you, other than murdering people."

Mordecai frowned.

Rodolphus shrugged. "Oh well."

He didn't really care. Vampires had killed as many wizards had them, same with locking them up. Anyway I have the polyjuice here for me, and you'll be fine without it. You and Sanguini look quite similar."

"Not really."

Rodolphus shrugged, and then threw back the mixture. Slowly he morphed into a short man with grey hair, whitening further around the sides, and nodded at Mordecai.

"All right. Let's get in the castle, and retrieve the target, and deliver him to the Dark Lord."

They hadn't apparated up close right away, choosing to walk the last half-mile so that if something looked off, they would be able to apparate away without the other side catching glimpse of them. It allowed them to see who the guests were, how many guards there were, how complicated the sensors would be.

Once they had gotten close enough and they'd watched from behind a tree a while, the shore of the island a few miles back, they apparated up to the gates. There, they had lined up next to the other guests waiting to enter the castle. During their time behind the willow Mordecai had also taken the opportunity to clasp the manacles around his wrists, the ones that would prevent him from thrusting his hand through stone (if he tried hard enough) and moving too quickly to be shot down with spells.

Horrible. He hated these. They blocked his magic and Mordecai felt weak, he felt stupid and human. The metal of the cuffs itched until he felt like tearing his wrists apart. But it was only for a few hours.

Rodolphus handled the conversation, as he was supposed to. Vampires were too scary.

He had been speaking to a witch with fairly vibrant hair who, Mordecai gathered from his heartbeat he was hoping to seduce. Hard to do looking like a man three times her age (and Worple was not pretty), but maybe she was into that. Rodolphus certainly seemed to hope so.

Or perhaps it was just nerves. Mordecai wouldn't know, he didn't get nervous anymore.

"So as I said to the Minister, I would advise not-"

"Next, please!"

Rodolphus paused, and turned to see a small man with spectacles balanced on his nose stood by the gates, wand in one hand along with an elegant-looking scroll. When Mordecai said small, he meant it - they couldn't have been more than four-feet tall.

The man in long robes didn't look happy to see Mordecai's bemused look as they walked up to the gates; Mordecai was busy trying to figure out what he was. Goblin? Part goblin?

"Good evening, gentlemen," he said, in a polite tone. "Names?"

"Eldred Worple," Rodolphus told him pleasantly. "And you are Professor Filius Flitwick, I believe? Horace mentioned you in a previous correspondence. He spoke very highly of you; not to mention I've come across old duelling championship listings and in recent revelations of... Transfiguration, wasn't it?"

Mordecai nearly laughed. That was one way to make an impression.

Flitwick looked mildly surprised. "Er, yes, that is me. What did you say you did?"

"Oh," Rodolphus reached down to shake his hand, going for refinement rather than patronisation, "Worple. Eldred Worple, I wrote a book." Flitwick nodded, looking a little lost however, so Rodolphus chuckled and added, "Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires. We should talk some more about it inside."

Flitwick nodded. "Of course, Mr Worple." Suddenly he turned to Mordecai, eyeing him with some suspicion. "And who is your companion?"

"Ah," Rodolphus gestured to him. "This here is Sanguini. An... assistant of mine."

"Pleasure to meet you," said Mordecai, smiling widely.

Flitwick's eyes widened, latching onto the fangs. "You're a...?"

"Correct."

Mordecai loved that part - when their eyes would turn frightened, the grasp on their wand tighten, mouth dry as they realised the creature in front of them. How, in just a second, they could be killed. Neck snapped and blood drained and not around to realise they should've run when they had the chance. The Ministry would catch up to him, oh yes they would try, but it wouldn't bring the murdered back.

Mordecai had to admit, Flitwick handled it better than most. Regardless, judging from what the rubbish Rodolphus had just spouted in an attempt to get on his good side, this man (however unbecomingly short) was not someone to be messed with. Mordecai wasn't stupid, he was nearly a hundred years old.

"I'll have to check you thoroughly, then," said Flitwick tightly, bringing out the object like a beam of light from the pocket of his robes. He held it out in front of him.

Normally, the person scanning would ask for permission. A courtesy given to the one being sorted. Often not permission but briefing them on what would occur next; whether the person being scanned needed to remove charmed jewellery and whatnot. Things that would interfere with the sensor.

Creatures didn't get that. However, Mordecai had seen enough of these scanner things to know keeping on a rune ring while you were being beamed over was not sensible. Jewellery runed with the type of etching that kept vampires safely undetected in sunlight and clear in mirrors was forcibly banned. They couldn't be glamoured away, either; the rule was in place so creatures couldn't hide. If you were caught with one it was an immediate life's sentence in Azkaban.

He went through the sensor, quiet and docile, something he had never quite been, not even in the early days and came out the other end all right. Other than glowing red, the sensor picked up nothing. It wouldn't do since Mordecai had left his ring in a safe space, cleared anything else suspicious off his person for tonight.

Flitwick nodded, staring at the cuffs round his wrists. People were usually put more at ease by them. "You're clear to go through."

"Thank you, Professor Flitwick," Rodolphus told him; the shorter man nodded, satisfied, before he began calling out other names.

Rodolphus and Mordecai walked up to the main doors, where they were wide open and the light flooded from it and spilt out into the courtyard.

"That was remarkably easy," Rodolphus sneered to him, eyes dark, and Mordecai couldn't help but agree. They hadn't even checked Rodolphus.

As the sky begun to darken they were lead up to the office would be taking place, house elf leading the way and throwing squeaky directions behind it as they progressed through the castle, bobbing ears and Hogwarts-crested tea towel causing them to be quite homey-looking creatures. There were Christmas decorations up everywhere: gaudy tinsel strung up behind paintings, , the mistletoe painted white dots on knights' helmets. Mordecai knew they could sense him and what he was from the way they tightened their hands on their spears and shields but paid them no mind. He had his cuffs on, didn't he?

(And the key in his pocket, but no one else had to know that.)

They were on the fourth floor and Mordecai tensed up they were so close to _his_ corridor. The one with the mirror, the one with the passage, the place he had spent months in now and the one their entire plot centred around. It was miles away but, it felt like inches. They passed it, more guests in front and behind them.

Slughorn's office was bright and sleek, all mahogany surfaces wrapped in filmy coloured gauze for the party, the Christmassy occasion. Sickening. To Mordecai, who sweets and treats and champagne like the stuff placed on silver platters swung round by the wait staff around them was nauseating.

The real stuff was here, and if he could, he would've sunk his teeth into it straight away.

That was what Ron Weasley just didn't get - he hadn't found the _enjoyment_ in being a vampire, could never if he kept with that hero mentality. He had to ditch that, and savour the blood and immortality because it was all he would ever get. Normal life? No chance of it. Not since he was bitten, and Mordecai didn't care about taking that away. If it meant he got more money, more blood, he would do anything.

He was drunk on the riches. He _loved_ it. It was all that mattered anymore.

To get more of what he _needed_ by now, purpose of tonight was to collect Ron Weasley and put him elsewhere till the morning. Then, tomorrow, they would move him to... somewhere more permanent where they could have some more fun with him. Additionally, Mordecai had taken a few other people with him. It would help with the plan, with the collection of creatures to... create something.

In the last war, Voldemort used giants to his advantage, gaining their trust and therefore control (giants were stupid creatures) and the Death Eaters devised doing the same with creatures. Personally Mordecai wasn't sure it would work, vampires and werewolves wanting to organise themselves and do things their way.

And so, he bit and turned Ron, giving him basic information to survive. If things had gone exactly to plan he would've been kept under their control, the Order in the dark as he went back to Hogwarts and at Christmas they would take him back again for good. They would bring him back again to a group of newly-turned vampires and werewolves and leave him there.

Things weren't too badly changed with the Order finding out. But it did make things twice as risky to pull off.

Through time and the only one with wordly-knowledge there, and his stupidly Gryffindor-ish nature, Ron would assume a leader-type. They were hoping so, but if it didn't work they had some more tricks up their sleeves.

Control a leader, and the rest of the group will follow.

They would bend them into shape, turn them into killing-machines activatable on a hair-trigger, and when the time came they would shoot. The curse saved the body, but it couldn't always the mind. Mordecai had seen the twisted things vampires had become under frequent and constant exposure to runes and aconite. A vampire army, entirely yours to control. What more could you want?

Mordecai would be paid well for his troubles. Once he dropped off the boy, he would be free to do what he liked with the money. Maybe come back for more jobs. Why hadn't he worked with the Death Eaters before? This was easy, plentiful cash.

Mordecai smirked, thinking of the gold he'd have while the party began in full-swing. Rodolphus talked and Mordecai followed. After a while, the two paused after the last woman they'd been speaking to left, and stood by the refreshments table eyeing all the other guests.

"You don't look very happy."

"I'm not," Mordecai replied scathingly. "Have you seen these stupid chains I have to wear? Just to put the humans at ease? I feel like a servant."

Vampires with their everlasting strength had too often been blackmailed that way, Mordecai knows, after they've been caught by the Ministry. If they're not killed they're sent off to someone's house and made to dust vases and scrub floors for centuries. Werewolves too.

Trapped by runes, and aconite, and threats from the Ministry about murder for what they were, forced creatures into submission. Kept them as servants. Some people even called it fair.

"Look! There are his friends," Rodolphus said. He smirked widely, the expression coming off much happier than Mordecai was used to due to the different face. Less bitter. Less stamped with a worn thinness only there after Azkaban. It was strange seeing Rodolphus under polyjuice. Thank goodness it didn't work on vampires. No one had looked at Sanguini close enough to distinguish features from Mordecai's because every vampire was the same, in their eyes.

Mordecai looked around to where Rodolphus was pointing to see some dark-haired kid with glasses he vaguely recognised from the papers as Harry Potter, the kid who blew someone up or something, Mordecai didn't care and his blonde companion who kept staring at the ceiling and looked quite odd, mad perhaps; she'd make a good vampire.

Mordecai gave her a leering grin, and she turned her head. Surprise dotted in those blue whirlpools of hers. Perhaps she'd be next on the list.

They waited a while longer, and nothing.

"Where is he?" asked Rodolphus. "The Weasley boy?"

Mordecai frowned slightly, but not so much as to raise the hackles of Slughorn, who was nattering on about some former student to the person beside them. "I don't know," he muttered.

"We need to find him."

"I will. I thought he might have been invited to this, but perhaps not. No matter." Mordecai said it like it wasn't already obvious. "We just need a-"

"Ah, Miss Granger!"

Slughorn beckoned over a girl with thick curls, fierce expression on her face and small bag clenched in one hand. She wore a flowing blue dress that dipped at the collarbones. Mordecai knew her wand was in that bag just from that clenched grip; she needed to work on being more discrete about it.

He smiled at her, and made to be polite.

She saw right through him, as not many did. Clever, this one was.

Hermione Granger. The dress and the tightened curls threw him off a little, but Mordecai had done his research. He'd had to learn all about Ron Weasley and, thanks to the Death Eaters' reach into the Ministry, he was able to easily.

But where was the one he had to take?

"Your name's not Sanguini, is it?"

Well. Much cleverer than he had placed her, perhaps. But she wasn't the one Mordecai needed to find.

* * *

Luna bounded towards him with a skip in her step, dirty blonde locks swaying out behind her; Harry watched her approach with an amused smile on his face.

"Hello Harry," she said, eyes wide, tone whimsical as always. Luna was stopped dead in front of him now.

Harry couldn't hold back a snort. "Hello, Luna. How was Neville?"

"All right. But the nargles around him were terrible, I have to say - must be the sausage rolls."

He gave her a grin. "You're a nice change, Luna."

She frowned, gaze sketching into his own. He felt like she saw more than he could understand. "From what?"

Harry simply nodded in return, glancing around the room and picking up on something curious. Worrying, even. "Hey, have you seen Ron anywhere?"

"I expect he's off doing things." Luna said, before her blue eyes snapped back to his to give him a strict look. "And I won't mention what: you should already know. And not everyone in here has hearing entirely useless, like ours." She laughed a little. "Really, what's the point of having all the fancy brain mechanisms if we can only hear half the length of the hall? How am I expected to help Elias with his homework on the end of the Hufflepuff table?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Elias Matthews, you know, in third year-"

Harry felt something pull taught in his chest, and his breath was swept up in it. His voice came out a low hum, harmonising with the low hubbub of the party. "Luna," he said, eyes darkened, "what did you mean by Ron off doing things? That part, remember?"

"Oh, right." She snorted, tucked a tendril of blonde behind one ear. "Come on Harry, you can't be that oblivious. If I had my can-opener I'd rid you of all those fuzzies between your ears."

"Stop it, Luna. Answer the question- this is serious!"

"I am being serious. I won't say what he has, because you know. And there's someone else like him in here."

Hermione suddenly appeared, looking flustered. Her grip on the beaded purple bag was tight.

"Harry," she said, forgoing any kind of greeting. Did that mean something was wrong? "Ron's missing. And there's a vampire at the party. L-look, over there, by the- um, Slughorn."

Harry's chest tightened extraordinarily hearing his friend's words, the feeling of peril only increasing as he looked around to see that there _was_ a vampire in the direction Hermione had pointed. He was cold, frosted red pupils dragging across the room and snapping to Harry's; he wasn't even surprised he found nothing staring back at him, just judging by the man's filthy coat and matted hair. Harry hadn't even seen his fangs and the man already screamed: 'VAMPIRE!'

Harry turned sharply. "Is he dangerous?"

"I have no idea." Hermione's grip tightened on her purse, and someone brushed past her, giggling with the person on their arm. "But Harry, didn't you hear me? Ron's _missing_."

Harry blinked, looking around at the room, realising that it was… true, startlingly; he couldn't see his ginger-haired roommate waltzing about the floor, or stood by the drinks table. He was gone.

"You know where he is? Either of you?" he tried to push as much desperation into his voice as he could, as much as he felt, and still both shook their heads. Brown and blonde curls waving and doing nothing to calm him.

He swallowed thickly. "Luna? Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I wondered if he was off in the infirmary, getting what he needs, perhaps. But I don't think so."

"Maybe we should go and check there," said Harry, unthinking. He paused. "Wait-"

"Or maybe," pressed Hermione, "we should talk about the- the _thing_ that's standing by the refreshments table!"

"But what about what Lu-" started Harry, but the other girl wasn't having any part of it.

"No, Harry, we should go. I know something's wrong, I know it."

Harry glanced over again, attempting to be discreet, and saw the back of a slender man stood by another shorter, older man and Slughorn. The other two were talking, yet he was silent.

But his head was slightly turned.

Luna hummed to herself. "We should go," she remarked. "He can hear everything we're saying."

Harry shot a worried look at the vampire, and nodded hurriedly.

They hurried away as a three, Hermione glancing about, Harry staring stonily at the floor with a tightened jaw, and Luna looking quite unbothered.

She'd gotten her wand out too. They all had, in fact, after Luna's comment.

"How did you know?" Harry hissed to her as they passed the teachers, all consumed in some dire-looking conversation.

She shrugged. "I could just tell. Also, I saw Ron wandering about the castle one night without a glamour."

Harry winced, and Hermione looked shocked.

"What?" she asked, scandalized.

Her and Luna talked some more, but Harry lost the conversation. Because Filch had just emerged in front of them, from the mouth of the dark corridor, dragging in a disgruntled-looking Draco Malfoy. As his eyes flashed over them his mouth drew back in a snarl.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows back.

Filch looked immeasurably proud, grabbing onto Malfoy by a tuft of platinum blond hair. "Professor Slughorn-" the professor turned, and looked quite shocked "-I caught this one attempting to gate-crash the party! What should I do with him, sir?"

Still trying to twist free, Malfoy hissed at him. "Let go of me, you mangy-"

"Now now, Mr Malfoy, let's all calm down," said Slughorn hurriedly, drink still in hand. "Er- Argus, isn't it? Just let him go, I think that will be all." He gestured around him, golden liquid slopping a little over the edge of the glass. From his ruddy cheeks, Harry would venture he was rather tipsy. "It's Christmas, have a little spirit! The more the merrier, hear hear!" He lifted his drink in commiseration and others did too across the room.

They all drunk as Filch released Malfoy with a final, painful, tug on his hair.

Draco tried to swagger away, but the effect was ruined by the hand still holding his head in pain.

Harry, who'd been smiling at the display, frowned as Snape twisted round to grab Malfoy's arm, and tugging him forcefully out of the room again; Harry's frown deepened. Where were they going?

Earlier on, the potions professor had delivered him the message that he and Dumbledore wouldn't have another lesson for a while - and contrary to the saying, Harry rather did want to shoot the messenger, especially with the degrading way he delivered every syllable.

He _really_ hated him. He did, truly. Harry didn't trust Malfoy; he thought given the chance, he would, along with the Death Eaters enter and destroy the school. He was a bigoted prick and Harry didn't think he would ever do a thing to help anyone other than himself. He thought he was up to something, he'd been too weird this year not to be.

And so he began to follow behind the two.

Hermione caught him leaving, confusion tearing through her face, and called out to him.

"Hey! Harry, where _are_ you going?"

He watched Snape lead Malfoy further away, taking his shot to find out what was going on with them and pulled a face. "I'll be back in a bit," said Harry, sheepish to her aghast expression, and Hermione shot him a glare.

"Come on!" she hissed at him; she had to take a few steps forward so as not to shout as he kept _walking away_. "We have to look for Ron!"

Harry twitched his shoulders uncomfortably. "I'll be back soon. Really soon. I just... I have to know, all right?"

Not waiting another second Harry darted after them, mind burning with thirst for the truth. He'd let it take a hold of him months ago, and he just couldn't let this one go. He couldn't. Harry just wanted to uncover the plot at Hogwarts this time around. Before it, the plot, took them by surprise, and they lost. Again.

Last time, they'd lost Sirius. Who would it be this time?

Ron, a voice in his head muttered to him.

He was already gone.

What if he never came back?

Harry paused in the darkened hallway, Snape and Malfoy just in sight up ahead. Was he doing the wrong thing here? Should he be with Hermione and Luna, searching for his best mate?  
Damn it, he was torn.

In the end Harry decided to creep off after Snape instead, telling himself it would only be a few minutes.

Shit... he hoped it would only take so long.

* * *

Mordecai decided he'd have to go wandering. And, his opportunity came just a little later.

Filch dragged in the Malfoy heir, proclaiming he had attempted to gate-crash the party and should be thrown out.

Mordecai smirked. He knew what the kid was trying to do, where he would be trying to go, and judging by the increased hollowness of his cheeks and the pale skin plastered over the top of the sunken bones and the dark circles stamped under his eyes, he was letting it get to him.

He held back a scoff. Amateur - his father was arrested and to make up for it he was given a difficult task, and suddenly he was all in a fright.

_Get over yourself._

Mortals. He disliked them.

However, it wasn't long until he was creeping along the dark and virtually empty halls of Hogwarts. Quiet since either everyone was in common rooms, at the party, or-

"Are you sure we're alone?"

"Perfectly sure. Now let's-"

Mordecai sometimes doubted how handy his overeager hearing really was, but most of the time it came through: like now, when he could sense a swift movement sharp enough and fast enough to liken his own; the absence of breaths within it and missing heartbeat that made the presence almost familiar-

Ron Weasley. A while away, it seemed; Mordecai again was far enough away and Ron was inexperienced enough at picking out supernatural presences for Mordecai to feel quite safe in his position. Unnoticed.

If any suits of armour lined annoyingly up against the wall knew he wasn't supposed to be there, they didn't move. Perhaps they were all dead. Anything that allowed bright tinsel to be wound around itself certainly seemed dead enough.

Perhaps they sensed that they could not defeat him even if they tried. Perhaps they could not sense him at all. Mordecai delved into his pocket and after a single shimmy of his wrists, had the cuffs off and read to receive their new owner.

He walked past another spread of baubles across an archway and scoffed. Christmas. Another thing he hated - before, years ago, it had been a simple enough affair. Dinner with the only two (sometimes three with his uncle) people he'd known his entire childhood and to finish a trip out to the graves lined neatly near the edge of the property. His father's ancestors and his mother Ellen.

Singing carols at the dark shape at the side of the woods they were never allowed to go near. Mordecai, his namesake. He remembered Alice, and how she too was now tucked up in the graveyard of the house now fallen into derelict disrepair.

He had to confund a few medical staff to take the body, simply levitating it out and apparating to his old home. It had been easy. While he was doing it Mordecai hadn't felt a sense of sadness, of remorse, particularly; if he was honest that had only mutedly tried to hit once he got to the house. He hadn't let it affect him further. Mordecai buried his sister and kissed goodbye to his last (potential) weakness.

He had loved her once. Years and years ago.

Regardless, he hated Christmas now. Never knew what to do with himself around the season when targets would usually dry up, and he'd go into hiding in some patch of woods outside someone's house feeling more than ever like the thing that haunted his childhood.

No... haunted wasn't the right word. More like adorned, if the stories he and Alice told themselves about him (it) were to be believed. At least they had never been frightened, up until that night.

Mordecai wondered where her children were for the first time, and what they were doing. If they knew their mother was dead and that she'd had a brother long ago, Michael, who died that fateful night. And he was born from the ashes - Mordecai.

He crept into his space behind the mirror, the one pungent with mildew but nonetheless a passable tunnel out of the school. Rodolphus would be joining him after the party was over here, and after Ron was dropped off at the portkey station bound up and shackled, they would return to Headquarters to report back the mission success.

Things weren't going exactly to plan.

Mordecai had only stepped in here to ensure the charms he placed on the mirror hadn't been disturbed and then, he would go outside again to begin chasing Ron Weasley to the right place. He had already done some of the work, walking along corridors deliberately close to where he was while making his way down here and ensuring that his prey would be scared. (It always made things better.)

Except Ron was coming down here himself… walking right up to the mirror, examining it, checking the sides for scratches, unaware of the danger he was eliciting. Mordecai merely had to disturb some of the dust to the opposite side with a simple, wandless, very weak reducto to have his head spinning in that direction.

It allowed him to step out, and position himself where he could pounce. Easily.

Mordecai gave himself a few moments to look over his previous 'student'. He had changed in the past months, looking older despite being immortal, the expression on his face more guarded and tense, the skepticism and unbidden haunted terror in his eyes looking a little more perpetual after few months of trying to fit in with the humans and not being trained further had grated on him. Ron had to make things up as he went along with no one to show him the way.

One thing that had not changed was that Ron still fell for it.

Every time.

Mordecai thought of this as he quietly snapped the boy's neck clean in half. Clasped on shackles that prevented him from doing magic and forced powdered aconite down his throat to knock him out for a while.

It wouldn't kill him, but it would put him to sleep for a few hours at this dosage. Same with werewolves. Mordecai never even told him about it in detail, there hadn't been time. Did Ron even think? Was he expecting to be able to do everything himself? Learn all the ways of this new life without guidance and- and _free_ guidance at that, did he have any idea how lucky he had been?

The next part was easy. Mordecai waved his hand, and Ron rose up into the air, head hanging and arms limp at his side. He looked almost dead with his lack of pulse and pale skin. Comatose floating in mid-air. Mordecai made his way up the corridor, as Ron floated behind, wet drips splattering on Ron's forehead and dusty dirt clotting thickly in his hair.

Mordecai just walked on like nothing was wrong. A scourgify would sort it out later; he hadn't had a shower in however many years (what was the point? He'd just need to do it again, find another place with soap and working hot water) and got by with the magic of spells and rivers.

He wrinkled his nose remembering a vampire active about twenty years ago, maybe the seventies? Infamous for slitting her wrists and sitting corpse-like in a bathtub in a puddle of her own blood just waiting for people to stumble upon her in hotels.

Mordecai had to say, it was a good tactic to find targets, regardless long it could take for a target to walk by. Shame the Ministry took her out sometime in 1979, if he remembered correctly.

Such a shame. She'd only been seventy-two. Mordecai at roughly a century, possibly the better side of ninety was… fairly young, by vampire standards. His kill-count was off the charts, however. Literally. He'd never been caught and revelled in the taste of victory - of the thick, heady blood of his victims.

Mordecai reached the portkey station as the moon shone down from above, and he allowed himself to stare up at the luminescence for a moment, the only light he could stand. Then it was back to work.

He hadn't been inside the abandoned station for a moment, wards a mere tickle on his skin until a furious pair of red eyes were level with his own. She must have been waiting by the door, it wasn't like she had her speed.

"Let us _go_ ," hissed the girl. She was stood in front of the small boy, Mordecai noticed. Her hands encircled with silver lay at her middle uselessly, chained with the same striped runes now around Ron's wrists that prevented her from using magic; didn't make her any less mouthy, as Mordecai was coming to learn about these courageous types.

God knows what Ron was going to do about it when he woke up. He was ten times worse.

The kid was huddled in the corner, that pulse of his going like a rabbit's. Mordecai wondered if he'd taste good when he eventually turned him. Mordecai wondered if he would even survive; kid looked terrified.

Mordecai craned his neck to get a better look at him, and again was met with a solid body. He glanced up at her face, streaked with dust and skin blotchy-looking from spending time in a dank, abandoned building. Her hair hung in greasy strips, pin-straight until they fell limp at the bottom. But the expression on her face shone past that, burning bright and fierce.

"If you don't let me go, at least let him," she said lowly. "What did he even _do_?"

Mordecai turned to look at her. "Now now... Kellen, was it? Well, where would the fun in that be? I was only supposed to get one person," said Mordecai helpfully, enjoying the way it soured Kellen's expression further, "but I decided I'd bag something else too. Two somethings, actually," he replied suavely." Maybe I can keep you two and find my own uses for a couple of pets."

Mordecai knew of older vampires and werewolves turning people just for someone to clean up after them. Lacking knowledge and experience themselves, the younger, weaker creatures were forced to trail behind. If Ron weren't so insufferable he might have considered more seriously taking him for himself and bringing him along to clean up the bodies after a feeding.

He'd never tried it out before, but... it made the sound of a good threat. Mordecai would probably never do it purely for the fact he didn't trust anyone but himself. Rodolphus he trusted… a little.

Kellen looked furious enough to spit, hands clenching but she knew, she knew from experience if she tried anything he'd just knock her out too, and then Tommy would be helpless. Mordecai had magic on his side. He snickered at her.

Kellen snarled "Shut-"

Mordecai smiled at her and she stopped; he continued on, waving his hand behind his back to levitate Ron in the building. "Now this," he told the two, the boy cowering in the corner and the girl standing in front of him, "is Ron Weasley. The reason you are here."

The body slumped to the ground with a harsh thump, and Ron's head rolled on the stones. Still dead to the world.

"Go make friends."

* * *

From there it was easy, easy to go back up the passage, back down the fourth floor corridor, back to the party. Slughorn's party, or whatever the name of that pompous old man had been. He sidled into the room, wanting to blend back in like he had never left, and was stopped by someone. A tall, sallow-looking man with a hooked nose and the shorter professor, Flitwick, by his side.

Bat-resembling man folded his arms, the folds of his cloak rumpling to accommodate his sharp elbows but other than that it was impossible to tell the shape of his body. He raised an eyebrow.

"Vampire," he spat, voice steely. "Where did you go?"

Mordecai couldn't help his lips pulling into a sanguine grin. "I have a name, you know," he replied. In the distance he caught sight of Rodolphus, and made to excuse himself.

"Excuse me," he said, but-

There was an arm blocking his way.

At once Mordecai was furious, face contorting into a snarl before he could stop it. But he had to- he had to remain _docile_ , and _trained_ , no matter how much he wanted to smash this fucker's face in and drain him; energy sizzled along his veins at the thought, splicing apart thoughts of control but before he could even conceive them.

With a struggle, Mordecai schooled his features back into something resembling peace. On the inside he was still itching to go; his task was done for the night, he was free to have fun. But he could not.

"It's fine, Severus," Flitwick sighed, blue-eyed gaze flicking up to the two men beside him. "I've checked him."

"Really?" 'Severus' raised an eyebrow, a slanted, thin line harsh on his face. From the pasty skin and dark eyes Mordecai had wondered if he wasn't a vampire, actually. Clearly not, though, from the derogatory way he'd addressed him 'Vampire'.

Sure, vampires could hate each other and have wars, but they never resorted to _human_ -like behaviour.

"I really have to go," said Mordecai, and this time Severus let him pass. He moved quickly, flashing his eyes where he could (to freak out the guests a little; he always got a kick from this stuff) and came to stand beside Rodolphus, who shot him an inquisitive expression.

Mordecai nodded. "Things went well," he muttered, ensuring no one else was listening in.

A slow grin unfurled across Rodolphus' face. "Excellent."

"When's this thing over?"

"An hour or so at most."

Mordecai looked down at his hands, at the cuffs he had put back around them (spares, from his pocket) and felt a glimmer of relief that these damn things would only have to be on for sixty more tedious minutes.

It was an hour or so later that Slughorn called out that, unfortunately, it was the end of the party and the guests began preparing to go home.

Severus and Flitwick were still watching them. Had been watching them in the corner so annoyingly Mordecai wondered about throwing the tall bat one a hiss to see what he would do. Probably hex him out of the castle; he'd made his dislike of vampires pretty clear.

Still, it was time to go, and the gig was nearly through. The mission completed - successfully, too. The guests were led down and out of the castle, at the gates getting a last farewell from Slughorn before they all departed into the night where carriages and portkeys were waiting. Rodolphus and Mordecai were going to walk past the boundary of the wards, and apparate.

Not to their fancy castle somewhere in Transylvania, where Worple lived, but to the old portkey office in Hogsmeade.

They were nearly in a clear. Just a few people to go, a few people left in the line... and then they would be _safe_.

Mordecai was aware of just how much could go wrong, how quickly. He could see Minerva McGonagall, esteemed witch in the Transfiguration arts and deputy headmistress (he remembered her name from the few times it had shown up in the papers years ago) and knew how well she, along with Filius Flitwick, former duelling champion (he'd even been to one of the tournaments once) could injure him and, thanks to these stupid cuffs, possibly win.

Just the thought of what the two of them would do to him if they found out what they had done, were planning to do...

Mordecai wasn't afraid, he'd lost that ability long ago, but being hexed literally inside out, eyeballs rolling off into the distance and leaving a slicked path behind and blood oozing from his crushed, twisted corpse injured beyond healing did not sound like a fun way to go.

That in itself probably wouldn't stamp out the curse, stamp out Mordecai, but he might spend a fun few months in agonising pain attempting to untwist himself and heal.

Maybe even a few years, like that guy who was shredded. Someone just came round every few months and shot him to pieces again, until eventually the curse stopped trying.

Mordecai had disposed of a few vampires in his own time, but usually he just left them out in the sun doped up on aconite and waited for the barbecue to start. He watched the bodies blaze from underneath shade, twisting the ring on his finger and looking on speculatively.

They turned to dust underneath his gaze.

"Next? Ah, Eldred! It was nice to see you tonight!"

Mordecai glanced around again, intuition telling him to listen in on the two professors' conversations. Severus, as Mordecai heard him being named must have been a professor, since he wasn't in the line to exit the castle.

Weird. Dumbledore must be mad to hire someone who looked like a vampire; Mordecai wondered how many times Snape had been investigated by the Ministry.

"...Keep an eye on those two, I have a bad feeling about them."

"Right you are, Severus, I have a similar feeling," Flitwick muttered from the corner of his mouth back to him.

Mordecai turned back, but it was too late. Snape's head had whipped in his direction; Mordecai could hear the fingers sliding up his arm, to the wand stowed up his sleeve-

"We have to go - _now_ ," hissed Mordecai, and Rodolphus jolted round mid-conversation to Slughorn. Luckily, the older man didn't appear to notice. He just kept talking.

"Now?" Rodolphus murmured back.

" _Yes_."

Rodolphus sighed. "Fine." He turned to Slughorn. "Right, Horace, this has been great, but... this one needs to, you know..."

Slughorn's eyebrows shoot to his hairline, and his mouth gaped for a moment. " _Oh_. Well, go ahead, then, we wouldn't want an accident to occur." He gestured out of the school gates, and Rodolphus and Mordecai couldn't get out of there fast enough.

Snape and Flitwick watched them leave with a narrowed gaze, both wands now drawn and tight in their hands.

* * *

From there things were even easier.

Mordecai and Rodolphus both apparated beside a tall tree, still thick with earthy evergreen needles that stood close to the old portkey and the passage just a few feet away by the cellar door, Mordecai cool and collected and Rodolphus breathless from the apparition and brushing dust from his coat. The polyjuice had long faded now, the hour and then the next hour's replacement and then the next finished. The hour had grown later, and the moon winked at them half-full in the distance.

The two men stood side by side. Mordecai indicated behind him with a shuffle of his elbow. "Got the Weasley in there. Went well - the idiot came right to the entrance of the tunnel."

Rodolphus nodded. "Good. I'm glad the thing up at the castle went well, even if Flitwick and Snape got a bit buggy toward the end. They'll probably forget, and even if they don't, it's harmless. They won't be able to do anything.

Mordecai nodded. "Yes."

Time stretched between the two for a moment, Rodolphus not continuing on the conversation further before Mordecai spoke again. "All right. Mission finished. I have to get something, and then I'll follow you to the manor."

He flexed his bare hand, the finger where he usually kept his rune ring empty. Rodolphus supposed he was going to fetch that from wherever he'd put it.

He hesitated. "Are you sure you want to go back there?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I ?" Mordecai said, moving round to face him properly. "I just finished a complicated mission, did extra; why wouldn't I go back to collect the prize? It's all mine, I earnt it. Just think of the _gold_ , Rodolphus."

"Because, like you said - you finished the mission. Why not just leave?"

Mordecai narrowed his eyes. "What's going on here?"  
"I'm saying-" Rodolphus held back again, glancing about... nervously? "Be careful. That's all I'm saying."

Mordecai chuffed at him. "I'm going, Rodolphus; I want my money, and I want to keep working for the Death Eaters. They pay well."

Rodolphus stared him for a second, saying nothing. Then he blinked, face strangely blank and tone equally so. "All right. I'll be going now, so see you later."

Nodding, Mordecai replied, "Goodbye, Rodolphus. See you later."

Rodolphus watched the darkness swirling around him, moon shining on the hair blown out behind him by the wind, the hands splayed with magic and muggy coat billowed. Mordecai walked in the opposite direction to where the wards ended, where he would be able to apparate. Rodolphus was already there.

Rodolphus sighed. "Don't be so sure about that last part," he murmured to himself, and shut his eyes; preparing to spin away into nothingness while Mordecai walked on oblivious.

His mind was occupied on the paycheck he'd receive tomorrow, in a little more than twelve hours. He never used the money for anything, but it was always good to have it. He liked the piles of money he kept lying about in safe places across the country, even the shillings and pennies and crowns that had long gone out of fashion.

Mordecai never had been very good at facing up to the consequences of his actions.

Rodolphus let him go, thinking back to his own praise he'd get from successfully completing the task.

His friendship with the vampire had to end at some point. And he wasn't going to be the first to go.

He thought for the second time that night about the bank heist that began it all, the night in the pub that had preceded it.

When he'd met Mordecai for the first time.

It had been the early seventies, he remembered, and they were fresh out of Hogwarts; by them he meant himself, Bella and Rabastan. He, his betrothed and his brother had decided to head to the nearest bar and drink to their success and newly-gained freedom.

The night had been warm, kicking off the start of what would be a wild summer.

The Hippogriff was a loud, raucous and morally ambiguous pub on the edge of a high street, the perfect place to go for budding Death Eaters wanting to avoid the infamy attached to their names. It wasn't like anyone knew them, but... it wasn't like Rodolphus was just going to go in a Muggle pub, was he?

Bellatrix looked stunning under the oily lamps of the Hippogriff, all flowing, dark, figure-hugging dress and thick, dark curls. Her eyes, hooded and deep beckoned him over, and who was Rodolphus not to comply? They were both barely seventeen, and betrothed.

They swayed together amidst the hot and bustling centre of the room, a foot away from the bar where his brother sat, so close to the tipsy wizards around him there was hardly any room to breathe.

Lazy notes swayed in the background, raunchy; several men on the base and strings and saxophone to make the most delicious music a thoroughly sozzled Rodolphus had ever heard.

Eventually the warm grew too humid, though, and he had to part from his lovely wife-to-be.

He had his face pressed deep into her neck, able to smell rose oil on her skin. She breathed heavily from the touch and he turned his lips up to place them on her neck, not having to see her face to know her eyes would be shut and her head thrown back.

A parting memory, a kiss. Because on a night like this, she'd have forgotten it by morning.

They pulled apart and he saw her eyes were open again, pupils blown and ebony spread wide and deep enough to sink a ship. It was expected - they had been in here several hours already, had sampled everything there was on offer, but still, Rodolphus made some notes in his head on how to produce that effect again.  
"Everything all right, 'Strange?"

He smirked widely at the nickname. Few called him that, but still it sounded special coming from Bella's lips. Curved and enchanting. "Of course, my dear. But I'm rather parched-" another gentlemen pressed deeply into the side of his companion swung by, robes thrown out by the twirl and Rodolphus stopped, mesmerised and distracted by the intrusion. But he felt a cool hand twirl into this, a glinting smile, and was back in focus.

Perhaps he had sampled what was on offer at the bar, too.

Taking in a deep breath (where he could smell herbs and perfume and cologne and alcohol; the Ministry might come in later on to kick them all out for what else was in the air, but he couldn't bring himself to care), Rodolphus took a step away from her, already mourning the body that fit like a mold over his own and wandered over to the bar. His fiancée didn't follow, instead choosing to gracefully, jauntily, wave on her own to the music - with half her tangled locks running free she looked quite beautiful, he thought. But also quite mad.

Oh well, she couldn't help her lineage, Rodolphus mused to himself, turning back to the bar and meeting his brother there. They were both sat on identical stools, topped with sleek velvet and metal brackets to support them. The song ended, and there was quiet applause before the band struck up another jaunty tune.

He reached over and fumbled for the drink under Rabastan, some fizzing ale, he thought and drained it in a second.

" _Excuse_ me," his brother said, affronted. His own hair was growing long and out of control, much like Rodolphus': nearly past his shoulders, and blown back by the summer air. "That was _mine_."  
"Get your own," he waved a hand somewhere, and got a wave in return. "Not like we don't have the money."

Another two drinks were deposited in front of him, and Rodolphus latched onto them with interest.  
"Fantastic," he muttered in reverence, throwing one back at once. A hand came to rest on the left side of the bar closest to him and Rodolphus frowned from around the glass. Slippery spice was still dripping down his throat, fermented warmth pleasing but it didn't stop the confusion that at once powdered his brain.

He turned to the side and saw a pale face, sharp features and matted curls. He saw a long, dark coat, and fingers angular like a spider's crossed atop the grimy bar surface, the stranger perfectly still evven with the music swaying behind him. Even with the lights beating in from the side of him, the scent of alcohol and moonshine and inebriated young adults surrounding him he made no move, slender face and darkened eyes staring ahead gratingly.

Not like Bella's. Mad enough, but not like Bella's.

One elbow was slung too far into said stranger's personal space, and in shifting round he accidentally knocked off into him. Rodolphus took another gulp of whatever the hell was in his cup without looking.

"E'scuse me," he said, syllables slipping a little, and the stranger turned his head.

The frozen gaze turned on him, and Rodolphus saw the eyes were red. The stranger looked amused. Rabastan was turned the opposite way, chatting to some blonde with a habit of clicking her teeth that really grated on Rodolphus' nerves.

In the distance Bella twirled away, catching the eye of more than a few of the bar circlers. Rodolphus could have appreciated it, hut he was staring at this stony freak. He raised an eyebrow. "What? I 'pologised, didn'- didn' _t_ , I?"

They just continued staring at him until they weren't gaze sliding away, hungry, to the rest of the people clustered around the bar and Rodolphus felt himself frown at something, at the man's empty hands. "Why don't you have a drink?"

You had to have a drink at the pub. Why else would you even turn up? Rodolphus shook his head.

He frowned, pointed brows sloping downwards. His hair was unruly, curls spilling just past his ears. "I don't want to," he added, before turning away.

Oh. Now Rodolphus got it. But still, why wouldn't you have a drink?

"Go on, have one - you c'n confund the bartender or something, if you're poor." His voice felt too thick.

"Because," and they smiled, and turned fully, revealing a toothy, eerie smile and darker eyes than he was anticipating, more like tourmaline in the darkness (but red?) And Rodolphus' jaw dropped. A _vampire_. "It's not my kind of beverage."

A sudden grip on his arm, snaking round his chest and shoulders and there was Bella again, plastered to Rodolphus' side. He felt his frown deepen; he was trying to _talk_ to whoever this was, and she'd interrupted him.

But, she was going to be his wife. Bella tipped herself onto his lap, and Rodolphus leaned into her, running a hand down her side, a quiet kiss to her cheek until she gave a contented hum with the pleasing burn of touch.

In the background he heard her introduce herself, winding and mildly degrading, as was her way. "The name's Bellatrix Black. Soon to be Lestrange," and Rodolphus looked up, processing the sanguine smile his betrothed was wearing.

The stranger, surprisingly, gave a sleek grin in return. His eyes were less red now. "Mordecai," he said, like the word tasted new on his lips. Rodolphus thought it was odd, but didn't question it. One didn't question vampires, after all, especially not in a pub on a crowded night. "That is mine."

"Pure-blood?" inquired Bellatrix, and the man she was sat on rather thought it didn't matter for a bloody evening at the pub.  
But as always, there was the image to uphold. And his parents had shown him all the statistics supporting the amount of prisoners who were Mudblooded, who scored higher on tests, who was expelled more, who got better jobs. Clearly, the pure magical blood won out in a wizarding society, as was right and natural.

"Does it matter?" said the stranger loftily, and Bellatrix scoffed.

"Not particularly," she said. "But I don't want to spend my evening talking to Muggle slime."

"I'm not a Muggle."

"Related to any?"

He shrugged. "No damn idea. Probably. But again, I'm not a Muggle."

He must have flashed his eyes at her, because the next second Bellatrix made a noise. "Oh, a vampire. How... exotic," she said haltingly, and then tipped her head to the side. Rodolphus paused the soft kisses he'd begun to press down Bella's neck. "So what are you doing in here?"

"Looking for something good to eat."

She laughed. "Pick a Muggle, would you?"

He gave her a thirsty smile back, and Rodolphus bristled a little.

His brother suddenly appeared in front of him, blocking the vampire from view and with a preemptive grin on his face that Rodolphus knows means he's found something.

"So, 'Dolph, I got us a job. You too plastered to do it, or not?" His tone was lowered, eyes flicking back and forth around the bar before he continued. "It pays well."  
Rodolphus nodded his head, and felt the room waver. "Of course. I can handle my alcohol, Rabastan."

Bellatrix swivelled off his lap, and tottered over to the vampire. She held out a slim wrist, gaze beadily decisive. "You want to come with us? May as well," she remarked to him, not nearly as smashed as her soon-to-be husband (but who still managed to get the job done that night, Rodolphus might add).

Surprisingly, the vampire stood, revealing plain boots and trousers beneath that coat of his. He looked quite common, actually, other than the matted hair and coat that swallowed him. But even that wasn't so out of the ordinary on a night like this.

"Sure. How much are we getting paid?" he asked.

The blonde Rabastan had been talking to appeared from behind him, thankfully not clicking her teeth this time. "Well," she said, voice light and pleasingly sturdy, "it depends if we get away with it or not."

He gave a nonchalant nod of his head. "All right. I'm in."

It turned out, her name was Cecily. And they were going to rob a Muggle bank.

It was fun, rushing in with wands pointed and spells and lights flashing. They'd run off with cash stuffed in their pockets and down shirts and silly Muggle sirens blaring in their ears.

They hadn't even fucking _prepared_ ; it was always so exhilarating to get away with it, to stun some unknowing Muggle and watch them crumple to the floor.

Of course their offences caught up with them, the Ministry knocking on the door of the manor next morning. Rodolphus came outside in a robe and just threw a few lawyers at them until they fucked off.

His father pulled him aside later on, too.

That was worse.

He clocked him round the head and told him not to fucking do that, ever again, said that if anyone had gotten seriously hurt, or _died_ , he wouldn't have been able to make the crime disappear so easily. Next time, they needed to cover their faces at the very least.

If the laws were just, taking the silly, filthy Muggles' money wouldn't have been wrong - perhaps payment to the wizards as their higher-ups.

Rodolphus had nodded to all this, to his father's inane ramblings holding one hand to his bleeding ear. The rings always caught; from the old scratches on Rabastan's face, he'd had the same issue too.

Families in these tight circles did punishment the same way: Bellatrix came to the next pub meeting with a black eye, and refused to talk about it, distracting Rodolphus by thrusting their lips together every time he tried to bring it up, which only occurred a few times.

They had to return half the cash, too, for that particular offence. But they kept the rest of the cash (making trips to Gringotts to get it all in the _right_ currency) and spent another night drinking together, finding Mordecai again in the crowd of the bar. He looked exactly the same. He had no parents to punish him; no one had ever even heard of Mordecai, actually, from Rodolphus' discrete asking around the circles.

But they'd all had such _fun_ together. Rodolphus, his brother, his fiancée, and Mordecai.

Rabastan and Rodolphus didn't have to keep what they were a secret from Mordecai, being proud of it and often loose-lipped from the alcohol, and regularly asked him to join. Lucius especially mentioned it when he and that nervous Narcissa when they came out a spare few times.

"You'd fit right in," said Rabastan, raising yet another glass to his lips. Mordecai spun round on his barstool, a drink actually in hand this time. Apparently, the stronger it was, the more acidic the alcohol, the less-bad it tasted. Still couldn't get drunk.

"To those Death Eaters you always talk about?" asked Mordecai quizzically. "No thanks. I don't pick sides, and I don't reckon he'd like me much anyway. I'm a vampire, remember?"

Rodolphus nodded, and left it.

They went on their adventures for another year and a half before the war started ramping up again and the three of them couldn't afford nights out as often. They had to stay in the Dark Lord's favour, and that meant being by his side for eternity.

It sounded dark, like they were giving up a lot... but they weren't. Rodolphus enjoyed the freedom of spell usage on anyone he liked, the money and access to the market (which served almost as well as a night at the Hippogriff in terms of what it yielded; better, even), the promise of eternal glory and the crushing of Muggles.

Crushing them down would bring them up, raise the wizards to shouts of applause. Rodolphus was fighting for a better, fairer future he'd been raised in the image of.

Mordecai was different. He didn't care about much, liking to hoard money and down humans and take. He loved it. Rodolphus could tell when he looked in his eyes and saw greed there.

So Rodolphus kept asking him to join the Death Eaters, and years, decades passed. It took nearly thirty years, until their faces were permeated with lines of age, all except Mordecai's - still as fresh as the day they'd met him. Until their hair was tinged grey - again, all except Mordecai's.

Rodolphus supposed that if you had eternity, you'd spend it playing all sides of the field. Death Eaters was forever and making such a permanent commitment was daunting to many.

They still got on decently, even after all this time. Still welded well enough for a night out, growing less and less frequent as Rodolphus couldn't sleep on the floor of a bar anymore without everything hurting afterwards.

Never friends. You didn't have vampires as friends, and besides, in the new world, creatures would be crushed below no matter what promises Voldemort made to get them on his side.

Rodolphus walked away, his own mind now on the events that would occur tomorrow. The most memorable mission Mordecai would ever get to do.

He should've taken Rodolphus' advice about not turning up tomorrow, but that was Mordecai. He would never change, would never get the chance, now.

Rodolphus apparated away, and some hours later, movement began to stir in the portkey office.

* * *

Ron woke up somewhere dark and cold, the last thing he could remember being the blackness that had swallowed his mind for what felt like a century. Reorienting himself with the world was slow, eyes peeling open uncomfortably against the dim, jaw stiff and uncomfortable from being in the same position for so long. He wasn't used to this.

His mind was still blank. Had he slept? _Finally?_

"I'm glad you're finally awake."

Ron twitched, suddenly registering the new presence, choking on its foreign voice. Threatening, or not? It- it didn't seem to be, the voice more desperate than anything... but you couldn't be sure

His eyes began to adjust. Now he was able to make out the broken dirt floor beneath him, the dusty window to the top right bearing just a sliver of light through the grime, and the... odd metal bands, like handcuffs around his wrists.

Quickly, Ron began to think of his options. Escape? Difficult in the current situation - he had no idea where he was, or even when he was.

Ron's best chance would be to fight. So, he powered up his best friend lately, a good old incendio-

Nothing happened. Ron shook his head, blaming the sluggishness he still felt to his core. He felt _slow_ , weak, for some reason. He tried again.

He powered up-

Nothing. maybe third time lucky.

He powered up his best friend lately, _incendio_ -

He powered-

He- what?

Ron frowned, eyebrows dragging down into a dire furrow. "Come on!" he hissed, fumbling about for his wand, twisting round on the uncomfortable stone dredged with grime. Fine - if his hands didn't work, he would just use his wand.

" _Incendio-_ "

Again, nothing happened.

"That won't work."

Ron twisted around finally, from the wall he had been deposited against. He felt weak still, throat tightened and dry - but not quite thirsty.

What had happened?

Ron gasped and pressed against his chest - it hurt terribly, like he'd inhaled a mouthful of smoke, lungs constricted and wheezing-

"I said, it wouldn't work."

He turned to the curt voice with a grumble, noting it belonged to a dishevelled girl with her hair straggling past her shoulders. To the side of her a small boy was curled up against the stained walls, shrouded in darkness and Ron coughed.

He stared at her. "Where am I?" he asked.

She shrugged. Her voice had a slight lilt to it, a faint accent. Slightly European but he couldn't place it. "Hogsmeade, I think. I wasn't out there for long before I was taken."

" _Taken_?"

"Yeah. All of us." She glanced briefly at the boy beside her, his small shoulders tucked beside her. "I've been here a week or so, maybe longer. He's been here about two days."

Ron swallowed. A buzzing filled his ears, filled the silence until he could only hear the kid's heartbeat in the corner.

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I."

She sighed, turning back to face the opposite wall, and Ron sat up straighter. She had on a thick jumper, and was staring at the boy in the corner with worry.

Ron still staring at the dark room around them. It was wide, square-shaped, entirely scrubbed of all but dust.

Ron was confused. Attempting to get a grasp on things but... failing. He still didn't remember what happened to even get him to this point.

"Do you know how long I've been out for?" he asked the girl in the darkness, and she shrugged.

"I'd guess it's been a few hours since the guy dragged you in here and clicked on the bonds." She held up her hands, the thick metal just visibly glinting in the gloom. He saw the piercing red of her eyes, and realised what she was. "Stops you doing magic. Stops you getting out of here. That's what he wants, you see."

Ron pulled a face. The girl opposite him, dressed in ragged clothing, a dirty Muggle jumper, long sleeves falling out the ends, boots sprawled in the dirt, turned her head slightly.

"What who wants?"

"I don't know his name, but he's like us. A vampire. He's got dark hair, red eyes, sharp kind of face-"

"Mordecai," muttered Ron, and the girl stopped. He must have taken his wand, too.

Ron's too tired to process everything - that despite all the precautions, despite _everything_ , Mordecai had gotten him _again_. Would he last another time?

"You- you know him?"

Outside the wind whistled past, and Tommy shifted.

"I do. And I know him too, I think." Ron nodded at the sleeping boy whose heartbeat was rapidly quickening, and Ron could just smell the fear brewing in his veins. "He was a first year, went missing up at the school."

The girl didn't reply for a while, then, the outline of her face highlighted by the moonlight. Her hair though straggling was parted neatly in some vague middle, and hung evenly halfway down her shoulders. It was a light blonde, Ron thought. But her skin was more a tan hue.

"That was where I was visiting. I wanted to come and see the school." She stared at him. "I wanted to check out the village, too... I was just on the outskirts"

"Oh. I was... I was..." he frowned; Ron hefted himself up to rest back against the wall, spine meeting the cold brick. "I can't remember, actually."

"Neither could I in the beginning. That night came back eventually." She suddenly pulled her head up, snapped her gaze to fit his, and he saw her eyes were red. Ron could feel his own glamour had been pulled off too, and for a second they both looked at each other, processing the matching red eyes. Beside Kellen the boy Ron presumed as Tommy

"I'm Kellen, by the way," she said.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

She looked confused for a second. "About what?"

"About any of it. For all I know you're the one that kidnapped me." Did Ron think that? Truly? No. But he was still reeling, and not about to reveal how confused he still was to this utter stranger, Kellen ( _look how it had cost him, talking to strangers_ ).

"Fine." She looked resolute now. "Watch till he comes back. Then you'll see I'm telling the truth."

"I'll do that," replied Ron, the note of finality in his voice sealing the conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I've wanted to say something for a while now, and I'm going to take the opportunity to do it now:
> 
> In this fic, there will be new characters added. Quite a lot. And between them and existing characters, there will be some romance (not smut, particularly). L'amour, if you will. Now, what do you guys need to do? Not get incredibly pissed off and flame up the comment section. Ta da. That's all I want to say. Obviously have your own opinions, and share them, but don't get all twisted up cause who you wanted to end up with who did not happen. You all seem like very cool people though so I'm hoping that's not going to happen. But I know how people get with their ships.
> 
> Same goes for the plot. Just keep an open mind.
> 
> Okay thanks for listening to me ramble (also for reading!) g'bye xx
> 
> -Tea33 :)


	28. Lost and Unfound

The Ordinary Life of a Sidekick

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Lost and Unfound

Hermione turned back to Luna, gaze snatched back from where it had been watching Harry disappear down a corridor, sweeping robes the last thing to be swallowed by the darkness that had screamed he was leaving them to search on their own.

Harry was someone ruled by his emotions. His instincts. Not always a bad thing, but... Hermione could do with him not being so rash right now.

The other girl gave her a grim look, one of the first Hermione had ever seen marring Luna's face; it was usually so carefree.

"Well, he's gone, hasn't he?" Luna pondered mostly to herself, and Hermione nodded.

"I hope he comes back, otherwise-"

Hermione stopped dead, listening again for what she'd heard-

Something about Ron-

From McGonagall, in a very, _very_ unflattering sentence.

"I had to expel Ron Weasley."

"What?" Hermione garbled, and Luna turned to look at her with a confused expression on her face.

She peered at Hermione oddly. "What is it, Hermione?"

"I just... hang on a second."

They were close to the stony arch that separated the darkened corridor from the bustling party, where Harry had disappeared moments before and Hermione ducked behind it, the other thankfully not questioning what was going on and just getting behind her.

Something was telling her to do this. Intuition of sorts. It was rather exciting to be the one possessing that rather than the boys, but with both missing Hermione wanted had to give it a shot, dredging up skills she hadn't used for a while.

Hermione went silent, intent on listening, and behind her Luna hummed a jaunty tune to herself, thankfully quiet, because McGonagall was speaking again.

McGonagall was speaking to Flitwick, the two of them at the edge of the room.

Flitwick shook his head, the light bouncing off his spectacles. "Terrible, isn't it? He 'd begun to show promise, too. His duelling skills..."

McGonagall's lips were tight. "They didn't come about through studying, Filius. We'd all rather he hadn't had to go through that to get them - although it's good he can defend himself. And I do agree, it's a bad thing he was expelled... but I had to do it."

"I understand. The duelling, sneaking out to Hogsmeade."

Her eyes widened. If Hermione had forced Ron to go back to school, would he not have been expelled? He'd have probably refused, more like, but the thought was enough to open up a gnawing guilt inside of her.

McGonagall nodded. "I also caught him threatening Mr Malfoy and Mr Goyle."

Flitwick turned wide-eyed, and Hermione's grip on the arch tightened as she craned her neck further round. "Do you think he _wanted_ to be expelled?"

"Perhaps. He still looked shocked when I did, though." She sighed. "The thing I most dislike is that I'm going against one of Hogwarts' core rules - the school is open to _all,_ after all."

"The founders also said students had to come first in terms of safety," Flitwick reminded her."Brilliant student though he was, he was a risk that, pertaining the current environment with vampires and their alliances and the stories that surround them, couldn't be taken. Don't feel too awful about it."

She sighed haughtily, and turned her head slightly (Hermione ducked back further behind the pillar). "My question - where on earth is Albus?"

"I don't know myself, Minerva. Off gallivanting, perhaps?"

McGonagall made a noise of condemnment. "Quite. Well, I do suspect he's off gathering things he has elected not to notify me of for his lessons with Mr Potter."

"I do wonder what he's teaching him."

"As do I. But, it must be important."

Hermione knew what Harry and Dumbledore were doing. Why weren't the teachers told? She began to wonder how valuable the information Dumbledore was giving them free licence of was.

"What of Tommy Vice? The missing first year?"

Flitwick swallowed, and shook his head. "Nothing yet. It- it's a difficult situation... he isn't the first student to get lost, as you would know, and Tommy never did have many friends."

"He should've gone to a different house," said McGonagall and Flitwick nodded in agreement.

"Right. He's practically bullied by those boys in his dormitory; I've tried to help as much as I can, but Horace seems adamant that it will dissolve on its own."

"Poor boy. Hopefully... it will. Once they find him."

McGonagall looked doubtful. "Has he been found yet, though?"

"No. I've set a few of my own on it - some prefects, I told them to invite their friends, anyone who would be up for the job. We need to find him before tomorrow... his mother will be expecting him home on the train."

"Has anyone notified her?"

"I'm not sure. I'm not even sure how long the boy's been missing for."

"Things will be fine, he'll turn up somewhere. Remember Montague?" Flitwick's voice soured slightly at the mention of the unpleasant Slytherin. "He was gone for a month."

"Yes, in a vanishing cabinet. I'm not sure where that is now, though, it's broken-"

"Oh, I disposed of it."

McGonagall looked intrigued. "Where?"

"Somewhere very special. A room of hidden things."

Hermione blinked. The cabinet was in the Room of Requirement, now?

A pause of Flitwick humming his approval, before he spoke again. "Have you any leads on where the boy is?"

"None but the broken suit of armour on the fourth floor, and I investigated that one myself. There was nothing but an over-excited knight. They looked a sight!" McGonagall exclaimed. "Armour scratched and shield bent. I wondered if the magic was waning, because they wouldn't stop bothering students and trying to drag more people down the corridor. I had to fix them to their plate because they wouldn't stop."

Flitwick raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Isn't that...?"

"A drastic measure? I know," McGonagall sighed. "But I couldn't have them taking more students missing by pulling them to obscure places for no reason; like I said, I already checked the area they were fussing over three times. I don't think I missed anything - and yes, I did check the mirror. Nothing behind it and as I remember, it was never turned into a passageway."

"Well, notify me if there are any leads," finished Flitwick.

The conversation finished. Flitwick bid his farewells, and wandered over to Professor Sprout, beginning a conversation with her while Professor McGonagall walked around some more, beginning to move toward the stone archway.

Hermione glanced behind her and saw Luna staring at the ground, eyes roaming over the cobble. She looked completely off in her own world - but as she watched, the fifth year looked up and met her gaze with something panicked.

"Luna, _Luna,_ we have to go, she's right-"

"Say no more," the other girl shot at her, before sprinting off for the corridor turn. Hermione was slower, but eventually they ducked behind there and saw McGonagall scanning the dark corridor, apparently unaware anyone was there.

Eventually, she left, and Luna turned to Hermione.

"There's something going on, isn't there?" she said, scanning Hermione's face intently. "Like last year. How it all ended in the Ministry."

Hermione nodded stiffly. "I think so, Luna."

They were both still for a minute, until Luna said: "I think we'd better go and find Ron now they've stopped talking."

"I think so too. Harry can meet us later."

Nodding, both girls quietly crept further down the corridor, heading in the direction of the Grand Staircases and Hermione begun to think over what she'd just heard.

Tommy Vice? A missing first year?

With a castle this big and confusing, it wasn't uncommon for students to get lost. It wasn't uncommon to have tracking spells prove unsuccessful because of all the magical interference. But with so many knights and paintings and ghosts all over the place, it was rare for a student to be lost for long. A few hours at the most was the usual, excluding Montague in the cabinet last year.

Hermione stopped for a second.  
"Are you all right?" asked Luna, and she nodded.

"Yes. Fine," she snapped, but she wasn't. Hermione huffed, and shook her head, rinsing a hand through her curls to focus herself again. How would they find the cabinet? Ask directly? Did they need to find the cabinet... Hermione didn't know, there were too many questions in her head.

Luna had stopped too. "Hermione?"

"Yes, yes, I'm coming now. Just... thinking," she assured the other girl.

Right. Get back on track, to the most important thing at hand.

They had to find Harry, and then find Ron.

Then they would go back to the party, and things would go like they were supposed to.

She really needed to find Ron; Hermione couldn't help but think if this was the last time she'd see him, she wanted to tell him. Everything. About how she really felt about him, and how confused it made her, but she still wanted to be with him badly.  
It was almost an ache, sitting above her chest.

Even if they could never go out like every other person their age, Hermione still wanted to tell Ron. She wanted a chance.

* * *

Harry watched as Snape walked away, the invisibility cloak tucked tightly around him obscuring him from view. A draft blew through the alcove he was sat in, and he shivered. Half a minute later Malfoy followed, and Harry was free to finally exhale again.

Well. He'd been right, hadn't he? Malfoy did have a mission and Snape knew about it - he'd even taken an Unbreakable-whatsit to help. But Draco was refusing to let him.

" _Don't try and steal my glory_ ," he'd hissed, and Harry could imagine the furiously bitter look that would've stained the boy's face.

Harry knows Snape would have looked back at Malfoy blankly, in disregard.

Who knows, maybe he did want to steal Malfoy's glory. If there was any of that left after his father got locked up in prison caught for being a Death Eater.

He stumbled out of his hiding place, tripping on the awkward hem of his dress robes and cloak slunk around him combined.

Now he had to find Hermione and Luna, so they could go and find Ron.

Where _could_ he have gone? Harry traced the stones he passed with his fingers, gaining in speed until he finally had to take his hand from the wall. About two corridors away from the party he lifted off his invisibility cloak with a flourish, so he could sneak back into the fray of party-goers and meet up with the girls again.

Harry frowned. He stood still, watching the crowd; he saw people swaying about with drinks sweating under the heat in hand talking about whatever, but no Luna or Hermione. Where had they gone?

Harry swallowed. Had he missed them entirely being caught up figuring out a stupid puzzle? He wanted to say he was doing it for Katie, to prove Malfoy was behind her cursing, but the truth was, it was all for him.

Christ, had he been so selfish he put that above finding his (potentially missing) best friend?

Harry sighed to himself, and swallowed again. Tried to push down the red that attempted to paint his face, and show the shame he really felt.

He was stood alone at the edge of the dance floor.

It was part anger, too. Because Harry didn't quite regret following Snape and Draco, no. He was quite glad of the information he learnt, but now...

He was alone at the party with his friends nowhere to be seen.

Finding them would be a wild goose chase. He had no idea where they'd be.

But now he was stood here, without a single thing to do.

Harry decided he'd had enough for the night, and begun heading back to the dormitory. With any luck they would be there.

* * *

"Luna!" Hermione whispered to the other girl. "Walk behind me. There should be no one here, they'll be at the dance - things'll be fine."

She nodded vaguely in Hermione's direction, before her eyes latched back onto the paintings dotted around the Gryffindor common room, looking at the windows placed periodically along the patterned walls, the snow clotted thickly against them like congested blood.

"I've never been in here before," Luna's voice was a cool, a lone competitor against the crackling of the dying fire, the combustion throwing sparks onto the rug below it and casting shadows onto the surrounding patched armchairs. Hermione preferred the red one on the left; it had the softest blond blanket slung across its top she'd ever felt.

Her and Ron had fought over that chair quite a bit. Often times they just sat there together, and Ginny would laugh whenever she caught them.

Hermione, still smiling at the memory, scoffed, grabbing the other girl's arm after the realisation Luna probably wouldn't move otherwise. "Well, now you have. The password changes after the holidays, so it doesn't matter now. Come on - the boys' dormitory is up here."

Luna looked in awe at the stones rugged with red and gold coverings as they climbed the stairs, head tipped up. "Isn't it odd we can go in theirs and they can't go in ours?"  
"Oh, yes. Definitely. But right now it's serving us well."

Reaching the door with the label saying 'Sixth years' Hermione let go of her, discreetly pushing it open. They crept in, shoes lightly tapping on the stone, and Hermione observed the quiet room lain out on front of them.

The room was empty, luckily for them, the other people in the dormitory assumedly still at the dance. Luna walked around Hermione to light the fire, and with magic the place was soon lit up, warmth spreading throughout the room.

Hermione nodded, relishing the wave of heat that soon hit her, and turned to the bed she knew belonged to Ron. He always took the one next to Harry's, and Harry always went closest to the door. The curtains were half shut from where she could see and for a moment she entertained the idea that he wasn't gone, that he was just asleep; although it would mean he had stood her up at the party, it was better than Ron having gone missing.

She peeled apart the curtains. Luna opened a door to the right, and hummed in surprise at the bathroom there.

Hermione found a neatly-made bed, underneath a half-packed trunk. Void of any prescence, completely empty. There were clothes thrown in the top, books haphazardly stacked up the sides, and the frayed initials on the outer rim read 'R.W.'.

"He's gone," she breathed, and Luna turned to look at her, eyes wide. Earrings bobbing. But she didn't look surprise, and with a gentle jolt Hermione realised she wasn't either.

Ron was definitely missing. But, she already knew that.

"Gone? Not quite," Luna remarked. "It looks to me like he was packing to leave-"

"-but realised halfway through he didn't need his things anymore."

Luna paused, looking serious for a moment. "That's not what I was going to say."

Hermione stalled. "I... sorry, Luna. But, he probably did do that. No one could've stopped him. He started packing, and realised he didn't need these things!"

Logically, she-

Logically? What any part of this could be explained logically? Her- her _best friend_ up and left in the middle of the night with just the clothes on his back and everything else gone. Having overheard what McGonagall said, things were beginning to make sense.

Hermione blinked dully, watching the fire sputter and burn. "Ron was expelled. He packed his things and halfway through though he realised didn't need them anymore. He used a passageway to get out of the school, and- and-"

Hermione stopped.

Luna moved to sit down on Ron's empty bed, by the side of the trunk. She held up her skirts so she wouldn't crease the silver folds of her dress, and folded her arms atop her knees. She looked back at Hermione. "Went back home?" Luna offered, sounding hopeful. She brushed a hand across her chin, eyes moving speculatively across the carpet. "But why wouldn't he wait for the train tomorrow?"

Hermione shrugged. "I... don't know. And I'm supposed to be the one to know things." She let out a huff. "If he left on his own, which I don't think he would, what can they do? There are so many places to hide I'm afraid he could've disappeared foreve-"

"Don't say that, Hermione," Luna interrupted, "otherwise it'll be true."

Hermione frowned, momentarily distracted. "That's not how it works."

Right? She hasn't jinxed it, has she, she isn't the reason Ron's gone, the reason he left-

"Maybe not," said Luna. "But it can't help."

"Right. Okay."

"Maybe he just went home early. There's no way of knowing. Maybe he hasn't left and just stopped packing to go to the infirmary, or tell you he couldn't go to the dance. He could be anywhere, let's not jump to any conclusions too soon." Luna stood up again, brushing off her dress. "We should go and tell the teachers. Maybe they'll know where he is."

"Yes, so then we can find him, and I can see him again," Luna nodded like she had known exactly where Hermione was going with her thread of speech.

"Come on, let's go."

They reached the common room before either of them spoke again.

"The Ministry won't be pleased," said Luna. "Ron makes the second student missing."

Hermione looked surprised, like she'd forgotten for a moment there were other things going on. "Second student. The first was Tommy Vice, wasn't it? The first year?"

"Yes. Nobody's quite sure when he was seen last, actually, which is quite sad. Don't you think?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Even when people couldn't talk to me long enough for me to stop spouting facts they still noticed when I went missing all day."

Luna nodded decisively, eyebrows raised. "I've always said Slytherin was too harsh on people who weren't Pureblood."

"Is that why he didn't really have many friends?"

Luna nodded. "He was bullied by the other boys in his dormitory. I tried to help, but they wouldn't listen to me either. Tommy liked wandering about the halls at night because of how quiet it was, and to delay having to come back to the dormitory at night."

"Then what do you think happened? Did he find something he shouldn't've?"

"I don't know. I hope not."

Luna glanced around the room, grey, the fire just barely lighting it now. "I think we should go now. People from the party might come back soon, and if we're found in here..."

Other houses weren't allowed in other common rooms (at least for long), it was a well-known fact. Just a violation of house... privacy, Hermione supposed.

"All right."

They crept back out of the Gryffindor common room, Hermione only remembering the late hour when she saw Filch creeping up at the end of the opposite corridor. They haphazardly ran down the hallway, Hermione nearly losing another shoe in the process and then having to hide from footsteps that only ended up being a stumbling couple returning from the party.

"So it's over?" whispered Hermione to Luna as they were both hiding behind an alcove.

Luna produced a vibrant yellow watch from her pocket, the ticking loud and bells running all along the outside of the golden machine. It had golden hour and minute hands.

"Quarter past eleven," said Luna. "So yes, I think it's over."

"How long were we gone for?"

Luna scanned the other girl's bewildered face, and just shrugged.

The next person they saw coming along the hallway was, on a stroke of luck, Harry.

"Harry!"

He turned in surprise, looking at them both. "Hermione? Luna? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Luna replied calmly, and Hermione nodded along with her.

"How was Malfoy?" asked Hermione, and Harry blinked.

"Er, not great. But I did find something out-"

"Tell me in a minute," Hermione cut in, impatient. "For now let's work on finding Ron. Starting with finding a teacher, and telling her he's missing. Have you found him?"

"No," said Harry. "I've been running round here for ages trying to find him. And he's... he's not on the map, I brought it with me," he indicated to a pocket. "He's nowhere. Unless he's left the castle

"Fantastic," he replied with a grim sigh, indicating it was anything but. "So I'm guessing you didn't find Ron, then?"

"No," said Luna. "And the horse radish snorkacks were no help either. I thought as creatures distant cousins to the crumple-horned snorkack native to Scotland they would be excellent, but so far they've ignored my earrings," she touched her earlobes and Hermione realised she'd changed them to small onion-looking lumps. _When_ _?_

Harry looked a little puzzled. "Thanks, Luna." He turned to Hermione. "Should we bring her on more of these things?"

Luna looked intrigued. "What does _these things_ mean-"

Hermione held up a hand. "Er, I wouldn't go that far. But you've been helpful, Luna. Thank you."

"Did you find anything other than what I did?" asked Harry.

"In the dormitory we found his trunk, half-packed." Hermione sighed. "From what you said we can gather he's not here anymore... maybe after he was expelled he was going to run and decided to leave all his things behind. I hope he only went back to the Burrow-"

Hermione looked to the side of her at the other girl, now staring at the ceiling again. "Well, obviously.

" _What_?"

She blinked at him. "Should I... repeat that?"

"No, no- _expelled_?"

Hermione nodded. "Oh, yes," she said seriously. "I overheard it from McGonagall. And apparently he attacked Malfoy and Goyle, too, and that was why he was in the end.

Harry shot a glance at Luna, who was staring at the ceiling and turned back to Hermione. "So what should we do?"

She shook her head, stressed. "I'm not sure. Maybe we should check the passageways, he could've gone down to Honeydukes. We should tell the teachers though, they need to know he's gone."

"Agreed." Harry looked at them both with determination written across his face. "All right - let's get going."

* * *

"What do you mean he's not in?"

McGonagall gave him a look. "I mean, Potter, _he's not in_." She moved round the office, pulling up another box to put on the desktop with a small crash. She began searching through it. "You would know about his absence, wouldn't you?"

Harry squirmed uncomfortably at the professor's piercing tone, but held his resolve. "Maybe. I didn't think it would be tonight. But we need him back here - _now_."

"And why is that?"

Hermione stepped forward, hands twisting anxiously. "We think Ron's missing. We can't find him anywhere."

"Ah." McGonagall had stopped, properly stopped now, an odd expression on her face. "Well, I had to expel him-"

" _Had to_? You didn't have to do anything, Professor," said Hermione, defiant. McGonagall pursed her lips.

"Didn't I?" she asked. "Not after everything he- Miss Lovegood, I assume you know?"

"It was quite obvious, Professor," Luna told her delightedly, and McGonagall was looking quite furious by now.

"That is _exactly_ why he was expelled. His utter disregard for the rules put in place for his own safety. He snuck out to Hogsmeade when he wasn't supposed to, and suffered for it. She stared at them, anger gone. "And that's not all. Professor Dumbledore has been served with several enquiries about the blood he's taking from St Mungo's, whether the students of Hogwarts are really getting into so many accidents that require spare blood; are you seeing the issues here?"

Harry's expression was tense. "Ron already said sorry Hogsmeade. He won't be going again. And we can find an alternative to the blood."

"Like what?"

"Well... what about Muggle hospitals? Don't they have blood?"  
"The Statute of Secrecy would never allow that. Not for vampires."

Harry brushed a hand through his hair, trying to rid himself of his agitation. He looked outside for a moment, to the grounds outside painted white with piles of snow. "I... we'll find a way."

McGonagall pursed her lips again. "Perhaps we could've, if it weren't for the last Quidditch match - Mr Weasley nearly injured Miss Jepson when she broke her arm. If he hadn't gotten away she might have been killed, even, in my mind."

Hermione felt like a deep cut had been carved from her chest, around her heart and it was all stupid, so stupid, because he was a vampire and she was human and it would never work - but that one kiss they'd shared, she'd spent longer thinking about than she'd ever admit.

She wouldn't kill herself over wanting him. Wouldn't be a meal dangled in front of a starving man, because that's all she would be to Ron if he ever lost control to the extent he had done at that Quidditch match.

But, maybe he could learn better control. Maybe.

And then what?

"Professor Dumbledore would most likely be sacked, myself, too, and anyone else who might have known what Weasley was if any of this was found out. Ron would be sent to Azkaban or exiled or killed for hiding and putting other people at risk. This situation is dangerous for us all, Mr Potter. So the best thing would be to send him back home, where you might be able to see him again. Even if it is only several times a year. That is far better than death," she said.

Harry had to concede a nod.

McGonagall looked somber for a moment. "It wasn't an easy decision to make and one I would never have made if it weren't absolutely necessary," she said.

Hermione had a stricken expression on her face. "But where is he? None of us have seen him all day."

McGonagall's gaze flicked up to meet him and she looked old, eyes lined and hair streaked with grey and a kind of ache in her eyes that spoke of long, tiring days.

"Now that part," she said, "I don't know."

* * *

Ron swallowed thickly, and felt a concentrated fire burn there. It wasn't thirst, he had he had concluded, after half an hour of sitting in silence, terrified he would accidentally hurt Tommy, who was still very much human.

His throat was still in agony from that odd purple dust Mordecai had shoved down his throat (his own hands gloved thickly, of course) to knock him out long enough to stash him in here.

Tommy and Kellen hadn't said a word since their introduction, Kellen staring off into the distance while the boy slept at her side. Faintly, Ron wondered how long she'd been here and whether she was like him or not. Another vampire turned by Mordecai and later stolen by him too.

He rubbed his throat again, the flesh inside sore to the touch. But it had gotten better since waking, so not like the thirst.

Ron could never be sure how bad the thirst got. He could never remember it when he got in too deep. Not when he was that deep into the thirst; then his memory grew patchy.

"When will he be back?" asked Ron, and the girl shifted. She'd been sitting in the same position for a while now, distant eyes sweeping the grey room in search of something.

At least the drowsiness was now seeping away. He was almost wide awake now, and unfortunately that meant the terror was beginning to condense in his stomach.

He breathed in, and felt a swirling that threatened to peel him apart entirely.

_So don't breathe._

"I have no idea," the girl said.

Ron bit his lip. "How have you been surviving? Without any blood? You haven't been... Tommy..."

She shook her head furiously. "Of course not. _He_ brings it, every so often. Tommy's just a kid, I wouldn't do that to him if there were another option." She stared at him sharply. "Why, are you thirsty?"

Ron shrugged, and curled in further on himself. "Not really."

She nodded. "But when you do, you're _not_ having any of him," she nodded at Tommy, curled up by her side. "He's a good kid. I'm fighting for him."

Ron was immediately alarmed and blinked, feeling blind in the darkness thanks to those idiotci cuffs. "What? I would never do that!"

Kellen didn't look convinced. "If you try, I'll fight you. Just remember that."

The few beats of silence that followed were Ron trying to figure out what to say next. Something occurred to him. "Is Tommy from the school?" Ron asked. "Hogwarts?" he had no idea if this girl knew what it was. He frowned, a sharp pain ringing in his head, like he'd been hit.

"Yeah, he's from the school. He told me he was kidnapped; by the same guy who took me, it sounds like." She frowned. "How did you know that?"

"There was a missing boy, I was looking for him."

"Where? The school?"

He felt a jolt of anger. "Where else?"

Her own expression twisted to match. They were on opposite sides of the room, Ron staring perhaps too forcefully into her red eyes, dark as his own. As much as Ron hated to mistrust someone because of their species, he... couldn't help but be wary. Even if he himself was a vampire.

"Why were you taken?" he asked.

She sighed. "I don't know."

"Really?"

Kellen threw him a deadpan look. "He didn't exactly give me a reason."

"Right. Sorry," he mumbled, leaning back further against the wall. They were at opposite sides of the dusty room, light only wavering down from a single, smudged window near the top of the walls which were stained a faint navy blue. Where the hell were they? This looked like Hogsmeade, from what he could make out from the window (not much), but _where_ were they? He hoped it wasn't in a building on the outskirts; it would lower the chances of them being found.

Could Kellen have been lying? If she lied about where they were, what else could she have been lying about?

He decided to probe her with more questions, test whatever she'd said so far and get some more information.

Before he could something else clicked in his head.

"Mordecai," he blurted out, hands feeling clammy at the mere mention of the man ( _monster_ ).

Kellen lifted her head. "Is that _your_ name?"

"No, no, mine's... it doesn't matter, but was Mordecai the one who took you?" At Kellen's bemused look, he continued on. "Dark hair, vampire, feral-looking... long coat, dirty. You seen him?"

She nodded shortly. "Was he the one who took you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Ron winced. "It's a very long story."

She looked at him expectantly. "Well, we have time."

"What if I don't want to tell you?"

Kellen didn't move. Ron began to feel awkward after a few moments, brushing a hand over the back of his neck.

"Er, I'm sorry for making things weird, just-"

Kellen spoke, and Ron realised she wasn't even looking at him. Her gaze, pensive, ran off into the distance.

"What did you say your name was, again?"

He stilled.

"Come on. I told you mine."

He sighed. "It's Ron," he said.

"Ron what?" She eyed him speculatively. "You look like a Weasley."

"Wh-what? How did you-"

"Freckles, red hair. If you're a wizard with that complexion you're likely to be a Weasley."

He shifted. She was right, of course, but it had been used as an insult so often he was uncomfortable with the description.

Kellen, sensing his discomfort held up her hands. "I'm sorry," she told him. "I don't really know, just someone told me that once and I-"

"No, don't worry about it," he replied. Ron sighed heavily. "You were right anyway. Yeah, I'm a Weasley."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh. How come you're a vampire, then?"

"What d'you mean?"

"I'm just surprised, that's all. Weasleys are... good, aren't they?" she turned to him.

Ron blinked. "Er."

"I don't have much experience in the Wizarding World, I'm just going off what a friend said," she told him apologetically.

Ron eyed her speculatively. "So who are you, then?"

She shrugged. "It's unimportant." She peered at his outfit, the school tie lying sunken and slightly greasy from dust and muck on his greying shirt. "Did you go to the school?"

Ron pulled a face and didn't answer.

Kellen paused suddenly, eyeing him in a different way. Clearly she hadn't recognised the tie; Ron found that odd. "You work for the Ministry, then, don't you? It's why Mordecai took you."

"I don't," he replied, a little heatedly.

"You're going to have to either not be so vague with your answers, or stop getting annoyed I jump to conclusions."

Ron frowned.

"Stubborn, aren't you?" Kellen sighed, finally getting to her feet. Ron tensed, wondering if she might walk over to him but instead she began to pace.

"I really hope you're not with the Ministry." She stared at him. "You don't kill other vampires for them, do you? Are you a... Death Eater?"

"You really have no idea about the Wizarding World, do you?"

Kellen looked insulted. "I thought my knowledge was quite up-to-date. There isn't someone else, is there? Dumbledore? I've heard of him. He killed... who did he kill?"

"How _old_ are you?" he asked her, and she shrugged.

"I have no idea," Kellen told him.

Ron stared at her. "You mean it's been that long?"

"No. I know I was turned six months ago, and I must be a young adult, maybe a teenager just from my looks."

Kellen sat back down, plodding down beside Tommy with a sigh. He stirred slightly, dark hair fluffed around his head leant against the floor.

"I don't know why I was taken," she said. "But you seem to." Kellen pursed her lips. "I don't know why Tommy was taken either. What could a kid like him have done?"

"He's not one of us, is he?" Ron said. "I didn't think so since I could see him breathing, but..."

"No, no, he's not. He's still human." Kellen looked at Ron. "And we have to make sure he stays that way, get it?"

Ron nodded, face serious. He would do that at least, even if he didn't know what else to do.

"I can't leave him with Mordecai alone," she said. "I've been working on escape plans, but... maybe I would've been quicker if he wasn't here. He's just a kid, though.."

"Yeah, we should get him away from here. Far away," Ron echoed the sentiment. "A kid shouldn't be in a place like this."

"Neither should anyone," said Kellen. She stared at him. "Can we make a truce? To get out of here?"

Ron considered it, before nodding quickly. "It doesn't mean I trust you, really, but we have to have some kind of agreement, I agree." He brushed a hand over his face, staring at the floor.

He looked back at Kellen. "How long do you think we have? Before _he_ comes back?"

She shrugged. "It's anyone's guess. Let's start thinking, though, so we can get out of here as soon as we can. So we can get Tommy out of here as soon as we can."

Well, thought Ron as the two began going over the boundaries of the place, he'd gotten what he wanted. He'd found Tommy. But how could he bring him back home? And what of Kellen?

* * *

Harry sat with his head in his hands, staring vacantly at the floor, at the scuffed trainers beneath his dress robes he'd thrown on earlier as part of a grudge against dress shoes when it had seemed so important. Just a few hours ago, before this whole mess had ever even crossed his mind.

Behind him, a hand came to rest on his back. He turned to find that surprisingly, it was Ginny who sank down next to him.

She folded her arms across her lap, and smiled at him. It was nice, a flame in the empty, stone corridor solely theirs to share. She looked nice like this, despite the expression lacking the bite he quite liked that came with her usual manner.

Harry saw the curls framing her face and couldn't help something warm churning through his gut. He reached over and hardly brushed one over her ear; she smiled again, expression warmer than ever.

"Hey," he tried, with a grin. Ginny's faltered slightly, and then collapsed entirely. Outside dawn was beginning to break through the sky, lighting up the darkness that shone on her face, her tight expression.

Harry drew back, worried.

Ginny's voice was barely a whisper when she spoke. "Do you have any idea where he is, Harry? I know- I know you two and Hermione tell each other everything, so I wondered-"

He shook his head quickly, wanting to reassure her otherwise, ease the dejected expression off her face. "No, Gin." The nickname slipped out before he could help it, but she didn't move. "I really don't know where he is. I told the Ministry the truth."

Two men had talked to Harry a few hours, both stern expressions and hair turning grey at the roots. They looked more or less identical; brothers, Harry guessed, if not twins.

Professor McGonagall had to report Tommy Vice missing after no one had found or seen him for more than twenty-four hours, and Ministry were looking into it.

They'd been just as terse as they looked. Harry could still remember hours before sat down in front of them, just him in McGonagall's office since they wanted to 'interview separately'.

Harry got it off to an excellent start, by rolling his eyes (it was an accident, he'd swear. Did actually swear when McGonagall told him off later for it).

"So," the man on the left began starkly, the one with the darker, less grey hair. "When was the last time you saw..." he checked the page. "Ron Weasley?"

"Last lesson. We went to dinner without him, thinking we'd meet up later before the party."

"Party?" the other one inquired. His eyes were a slightly lighter brown, matching with the silver more common in his hair.

"Slughorn's. The Christmas one, you know?"

The two men exchanged looks. Harry frowned.

"So can you find him or not?"

Grey hair cleared his throat. "We'll try."

Dark hair nodded along with him.

Harry frowned.

"And when you say _we_ , you mean..."

"Me, Luna and Hermione. My date and Ron's date; they're both outside since you wouldn't let them in."

Grey hair scowled. "We had to. It's Ministry protocol."

"I don't think he cares much about Ministry protocol, you know," remarked the other, curious look in his eye. "Harry Potter. You've gotten up to a lot over the years, haven't you?"

Harry frowned even harder, itching to cross his arms too. If there was one thing he disliked more perhaps than Voldemort, it was the Ministry. He still remembered all the rubbish they put him through last year.

"Yes," he replied through gritted teeth. He didn't much like grey hair.

Dark hair tried to reason with him, shooting both of them quelling looks. "Look," he said slowly. "That wasn't us or our department-"

"Who are you both, anyway?"

The man sighed. "Robert," he pointed to himself, "and Edward Fowler. Brothers, and we-"

Robert (or dark hair, as Harry had previously called him) was looking at him with distaste as Edward (greyer hair) spoke and Harry didn't find it hard to decide which brother he preferred.

"-Work in a department that deals with everything missing. Some call us Finders. We find people, items, anything magical that gets lost."

"Sometimes Muggle things, too," Edward added.

"So we've been called in today to find your friend; we tend to have a pretty high success rate, so don't lose hope."

"I wasn't," said Harry.

Robert nodded. "Good. Just making sure."

"But in order to do so, we need to know _everything_ ," Edward leaned forward across the desk they were sat at, Harry on one side and the brothers on the other. "Even the most insignificant detail. We need to know anything you think might help."

Harry's jaw worked. Of course he knew what could help, of course he did. Telling them his best mate was a vampire and that the Death Eaters were after him, so kidnapping was a risk.

(Harry was sticking to that story because there was no way Ron just ran out on them after all this, no way he gave up after he was expelled, no matter how boring life at the Burrow alone other than his parents would be.

His stomach twisted again, and Harry wondered if he wasn't presuming too much.

"No," he eventually said, too long resigned to keeping the secret. It wouldn't do Ron any favours to have the Ministry chasing him up for him being a vampire, too.

Robert sighed. Obviously this kid wasn't telling the truth, but there wasn't much he could do about it. This was Harry Potter, someone with an infamous distrust in the Ministry and here they were, Ministry representatives asking him to spill his secrets.

"All right."

Edward shot him a look that told Robert he couldn't wait for the conversation that would occur once they got out of the office. But first, he turned back to Harry.  
"We also like separating suspects so they can't share stories." He smiled sharply, like a shark. "You wouldn't all give us different chains of events, would you? Lie?"

Harry breathed tightly through his nostrils, barely restraining his anger. "No. 'Course not."

"Good," Edward replied smoothly. "Just checking."

* * *

"Well, they're obviously hiding something, aren't they?"

Edward and Robert kept a quick pace moving along the hallways, longish hair snapping out behind them. Too many people had said that they looked like twins, and although they weren't, they practically were.

They still sat huddled together in an office every day, surrounded by mountains of paperwork and corresponded almost constantly when they were apart. But they had to, for their jobs and... side activities.

Robert slowed down now they were closer to the large doors otherwise known as the exit. He sighed and turned, giving his brother a reproachful look. "Obviously," he said. "The brunette girl hardly said a thing, and the blonde one spoke like she'd had too much to drink, of course they're lying. But what can we do?"

"Figure it out."

"What, by throttling the kids until they give up the secret?" said Robert. He snorted. "I'm sure that would go down well with the headmistress."

"She was lying as well, you know it too," Edward shot back reproachfully and Robert turned.

Arms crossed, Robert's frown said it all. "Yes. Now let's _go_ , we can talk about this later - don't you remember what we have to do tonight?"

"No, no, we're missing something here, I'm sure of it. This isn't just a regular runaway - they're _hiding_ something."

Robert peered at him. "If they are, what is it?"

Edward threw out his hands. "I have no idea. I suppose we'll have to figure it out."

They began walking again.

"You don't think it's connected to the other disappearances? Death Eater activity?"

Edward considered. "The boy is close with Harry Potter, could be. Was he in the fight last summer in the Ministry?"

"I can't recall," said Robert slowly. "We'll have to go to the Prophet's archives, they'll probably have a paper from last summer somewhere. I think Don still works there, you can try and charm some information out of him."

"Or we could look in your house... you never throw anything away, you know. Especially not papers."

"You're right, but be quiet." He looked at his brother. "Is the kid involved in Resistance activity, or his family?"

"So it's Death Eaters?"  
"If the family's involved, I think so."

"All right." Robert nodded. "Shall we leave this for later?"

"Yes, that's what I've been saying all along." Edward gave him a knowing look. "That nest of vampires won't take care of itself... we need to get on the site quickly, they feed at two in the morning and we need to get there before they start."

Robert cracked his knuckles. "Correct you are, brother. Let's go. And after, we come back here... shouldn't take too long to slaughter the leaders of the clan."

They set out the doors, leaving the castle behind. They had more important things to do tonight, and if this boy had been taken by Death Eaters, they would be no help to him. Not their tiny department, just the two of them in a mutation of the Law department and their funding further cut by each passing day. What with the Ministry turning more and more in favour of the people making people disappear nowadays, they weren't likely to fund someone trying to collapse their plans.

* * *

"Harry?" Ginny said.

He turned round to blink at her, coming back from his thoughts. "Yeah?"

"You were saying?"

"Oh... yeah."

The interview had finished hours ago, as Harry said. They interviewed Hermione separately after him, then Luna. They left with straight faces and said they had to go and write reports. They also said they would return once they had finished and come and search for Ron themselves.

Harry looked back at Ginny, who had a nervous frown on her face.

"We told them we hadn't seen Ron since lessons-"

"Why didn't you look for him? You three always go down to dinner together, why didn't you _wait_ for him?"

The two stared at each other for a moment, both unable to speak for their surprise. Ginny was the one who recovered first, anxiously wetting her lips and glancing at him quickly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Just got a bit- a bit- angry, for a second there." She shook her head, turning away. "But it's not your fault. None of it is. This has all just been some big... accident, or something. He'll come back again. Once they find him."

Harry nodded, head hanging lower, looking back at his feet. He scrubbed a tired hand through his fringe. "It's fine. I'm only his friend, I can't imagine what you must be going through as his sister."

"You're close enough to him," said Ginny quietly, and then stopped. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, too long, and Harry looked back up at her again.

They shifted a little closer, and to Harry it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like things were supposed to be this way.

They moved a little closer, and-

"There you two are!"

And jumped apart again. Harry's head spun in the other direction, gaze twisting to the window where he could look at the moon and imagine a cool breeze soothing the burn of his cheeks-

Hermione appeared oblivious, coming to sit down on the stone bench opposite them and faced them with an urgent look. Her hair had come out of their tightened curls and gone frizzier; Ron would've observed at every stray strand for hours, Harry knew, as he had often seen the other boy doing, and despite his enhanced vision never spotted Hermione doing the same?

Really, how much more oblivious could you be to the one that liked you?

Harry turned to face Ginny, swallowing and hoping she couldn't detect the frayed nerves that frazzled underneath the surface.

Now just wasn't the right time to ask her out. It just wasn't, and it wouldn't until Ron was found.

Harry hoped it wasn't long for all of their sakes, not just his dating interests.

(Even then he wasn't sure he would ask her.)

Hermione spoke again. "We have to find where Ron is now. Right now." Her face was pale, tension abundant in her frown. The fact Ron was missing left a gaping hole in the group.

"We should search the castle and I've already asked Slughorn for the list of guests - and I know it sound a little out there, and he was being watched the whole time, but you don't think it could have been Sanguini?"

He nodded quickly. "Let's do all that, but shouldn't we get more people in on this? We need to send out search parties, in case he's still in the castle. We have to find him."

"Who?"

"Like Dean, Seamus, Neville; some more of year-"

"Mine, too," said Ginny, appearing somewhat relieved for the first time that night. "The Gryffindor team will want to help too. They'll be more than happy to, he's our keeper. And Tommy's disappearance has got round, there are search parties already going round so if we explain the situation with Ron, they should help."

Hermione nodded. "Good. Sounds good. It's the last week of term, people will want to help."

"He can't have gone far," said Ginny. "It's only been- what? A hours since we saw him? About ten, I think."

Hermione sighed, hesitating before she said: "It's not just that. The tracking spells for Ron and Tommy both failed; couldn't even get a spark out of them. McGonagall told me when I was waiting for you to be interviewed."

"That's- that's not right," Ginny said.

Hermione's expression crumpled. "I know. It's not too... odd, considering the interference Hogwarts and all its magic can cause, but still. Getting _nothing_?"

Harry swallowed. "It's not good. Maybe he's not in the castle... we should try the passageways, if we get a chance. Look about Hogsmeade, if we can; it'll be closed at this time of night. We should check the Room of Requirement, too, he could just have gone there for a few hours." He looked round at them. "It's not all lost, yet."

Hermione gave a rare grin. "If he's been in the room this entire time, I'll never let him live this down." After all, magical signatures were all blocked entirely by the room's magic.

"What about Tommy?" asked Ginny.  
"Maybe he found somewhere _like_ the room," said Harry. "That's why we should look for him."

Ginny shook her head, looking bewildered. "There's just so many places to look. Hogwarts is _enormous_."

Harry gave her a grim look. "That's why we should start looking now."

They left the common room, Harry fishing out the map as he went and peeling open the pages. The three went to join the hunt, too antsy to sleep or stop for a second.

They would find Ron any minute now.

* * *

Harry shook his head at the other two, turning his head away from the dark corridor. They were stood in the fourth floor, by the cramped hallway diverting from the rest of the classrooms. "No. The twins said it caved in years ago, it's a bust."

Ginny nodded. "Come on, let's go and look in the old Gobstones department; a few of the doors lock on themselves all the time, we need to keep moving."

Hermione nodded. "Then the Room of Requirement; it's the most likely place, I think."

The group moved on, bickering about the best place to search and the rest of the time lapsing into a worried silence. Every so often they would pass other groups, giving tired nods and moving on again.

Every student at Hogwarts, it seemed, had come alive to search, a few of the friendlier ghosts chipping in. Even though Tommy was hardly known and Ron a little too loud for some of the other students' liking, they were part of the school. They _had_ to be found again.

Despite it all Harry didn't see many teachers... hopefully, they were following up on leads with the Fowlers, those two Ministry men who had come earlier.

Down the dark hallway a breeze whispered through stale air, dancing across the remains of a metal suit of armour, clawed away by unnatural powers, metal coroded years beyond its age.

The heap of silver still quivered slightly, the knight unable to reach up to touch their face one last time before their fingers melted to nothingness.

They were silent, but their soul still screamed at the pain. Shrill and filling the knight's head until their eardrums were about to burst.

They hadn't been able to help, not the first or the second time someone was taken in front of them, not when a flash of light too fast for them to dodge had erupted in their line of vision and something began eating them inside out, scraping away their body and with nothing left, they melted away into nothingness.

They had failed at their mission, at protecting the school.

Merlin would be ashamed when they reached the up above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some answers to questions you might have:
> 
> The passage is something vaguely mentioned in canon. To quote the wiki, 'A very roomy secret passage toHogsmeade was located behind a big mirror on the fourth floor, but it caved in during the winter of 1992-1993'. Obviously I messed with a couple details. (I think my nerd side is really showing more than it already does here, I knew about that before googling it to get confirmation.)
> 
> The mirror mentioned is not the Mirror of Erised.
> 
> The gang knowing it was caved in is why they skipped over it; there were better places to search. The ghosts couldn't have gone down the passage to Hogsmeade as they are bound to Hogwarts, and the teachers don't know about it/know it caved in years ago, so probably wouldn't bother checking because again, there are better places to look.
> 
> Dumbledore isn't about since he thinks gathering memories so Voldemort can be killed is more important than looking for missing kids, since in a massive place like Hogwarts a first year probably goes missing every week. And when he was told, Ron wasn't missing yet.
> 
> A Death Eater learnt about the passage years ago and decided to mention it when they were thinking of ways to infiltrate, and decided not to give up when they found it caved in. Mordecai was chosen for the job 'cause it was dangerous... rocks falling on your head, and all that. Rodolphus sort of trusted him, so they figured why not use him for that phase of big plan thing (??name??).
> 
> Robert and Edward Fowler will be featuring more later.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Apologies for late update and long A/N.
> 
> -Tea33 :)


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